


While You Were Sleeping

by StacPolly



Category: Supernatural, While You Were Sleeping (1995)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 51,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StacPolly/pseuds/StacPolly
Summary: Lonely transit worker, Castiel Novak is reluctantly working Christmas Eve at the tollbooth when his long-time crush, hot-shot lawyer, Sam Winchester is pushed onto the tracks. After Castiel leaps to save Sam from an oncoming train and accompanies a comatose Sam to hospital, a misplaced comment causes Sam's family to assume that Castiel is Sam's fiance. When Castiel is unable to correct them, he soon finds himself adopted as yet another member of the warm-hearted Winchester-Harvelle-Singer family. When, Dean, Sam's rather lovely brother arrives home to find his brother has an unexpected and highly suspect fiance, hi-jinks ensue.In a fit of amazing creativity I've borrowed the Supernatural cast and transported them, Trickster-like, into the plot of While You Were Sleeping. In other words I've created neither characters nor plot. Most of this was finished some time ago, so I will be posting 1-2 chapters a week, on Mondays, and it will hopefully cheer us all up.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 65
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

It was the weekend before Christmas, and Castiel was working.

Again.

“Hey, Castiel! I’ve been calling you.”

Castiel paused and turned, his chest tightening as he saw his boss totter down the stone steps of the Art Institute. He usually liked to spend his brief lunch break taking a walk along the river bank, avoiding the savoury odours of the hotdog sellers and doughnut stalls, watching the cargo ships lined up along the banks of the Chicago River, and wondering where they were going next.

He never told anyone where _he_ was going.

“I thought you said you were going for lunch?” Hannah, panting, had caught up with him, pressing her hand to her chest.

“I, I got distracted,” he said, his face flushing. He knew he’d had no intention of buying lunch, instead he had hoped to eat his small homemade sub on a bench on the riverbank.

Even the murky waters of the Chicago River were a relief after the concrete and steel of La Salle Street, and its environs, and though he knew walking would burn off energy he could ill afford to lose, he could never resist the pull of the only bit of nature he ever got to see.

“Well I’m hungry, even if you aren’t,” said Hannah, catching him by the elbow and dragging him off the walkway and towards a hotdog seller. “Let me buy you some lunch.”

Castiel stared at her. Hannah was always pleasant to him—as long as he turned up on time for his shifts at the CTA tollbooth in La Salle—but she had never invited him to lunch before. As she scanned the price list on the stall, he eyed her suspiciously, looking for any sign of what this was all about.

“Come on, Castiel. What are you having?”

“Oh.” He gestured to his pocket. “I brought a sub from home. I actually not that hungry, I don’t need–”

“He’ll have a hotdog. I wanted to talk to you Castiel, so just hang on there until I’ve paid for these.” She nudged him gently aside, and delved in her bag for her purse.

Castiel stood, frozen, on the sidewalk. Why was Hannah suddenly buying him lunch? It wasn’t, oh God, was this a date? Gabe sometimes teased him about Hannah, as well as his own inability to figure out that someone was chatting him up, but he’d always assumed she’d _known_ about him. Maybe he’d given the wrong impression. Oh God. If he turned her down, would he lose his job? It would be a nightmare finding a new job just before Christmas, and he’d lose his insurance too.

“Here you are,” she said, shoving the second hotdog at him. “You look like you could do with a hot meal.”

His cheeks flooded with heat.

This was worse. This wasn’t a date. They knew. This was a, a what did Gabriel call it? Oh yes, an intervention.

He was going to kill Gabe.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the sweaty bundle. “So, er, what did you want to talk to me about?” Because even a date with Hannah would have to be better than dealing with the shame churning his gut.

Hannah bit into her own hotdog, squirting mustard out the end, which she caught on her finger. “So, about the Employee of the Month…”

“I didn’t know we had an employee of the month.” Castiel bit into his own hotdog, and whilst it was probably pretty unhealthy, the heat and spice were welcome on such a chilly day.

“We do, and I’m recommending _you_ for it.” She gave him a bright smile. A suspiciously bright smile.

“Oh,” he said, and took another bite consideringly. Maybe it came with a supermarket voucher or something, which wouldn’t be unwelcome. He could buy a turkey crown, have a proper Christmas for once.

“Yes.” Hannah shoved her hotdog at him and reached inside her jacket to tug out a sheet of legal paper. “It says here. Castiel Novak, nominated employee of the month. Castiel is always on time, and is only very rarely distracted by his colleagues, namely Gabriel Loki, who is most definitely _not_ being nominated for employee of the month. Castiel is always very supportive of his colleagues’ work-life balance and willing to work holidays…” Hannah paused, her cheeks a little flushed, and then hurried on. “Even if he did work last Christmas, and the last few holidays, _and_ Thanksgiving.”

The churn in his gut was rapidly turning into full on nausea. He looked up at Hannah, and she did, at least, have the grace to look embarrassed.

“ _Again?_ ”

She gave a little shrug. “I’ve got my brother coming over, I haven’t seen him in years. Kali’s parents are coming down, and Gabriel’s going home on Christmas Eve. You can have New Year’s Eve off though.” Her voice turned pleading. “I’m sorry, Castiel, I hate doing this to you again, it’s just—”

“Everyone else has family,” he repeated, dully, his eyes watering in the low sun. “I know. It makes sense.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s with the sour face?” There came a plop as Gabriel pulled the brightly coloured candy cane from his mouth. “Saw you coming back from lunch with Hannah the other day, so your life should be looking up. We all know she’s got a crush on you.”

“A crush on _me_?” Castiel glanced over, his hand paused over the change he was counting, turning, for a moment, from the customer screen. It was Christmas Eve, and he only had an hour to go on his shift.

A coin clattered into the tray.

“Hurry up! I’ll miss my train.”

He glanced up, and nearly tumbled off his stool when he recognised the impatient customer: The incredibly handsome lawyer who commuted in daily.

Or Hot Lawyer Guy, as Gabriel had christened him weeks ago.

Flushing, he dropped the change into the tray and slid the ticket over. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Sir. Here you go.”

The man frowned, his strong eyebrows drawing together, as he scooped up the change, his expensive watch glinting in the winter sun, and headed for the stairs. Castiel didn’t know much about watches, but even he knew what a Rolex was, and something about the man’s attire and attitude told him it wasn’t likely to be a fake.

“Lucky Hannah didn’t hear that.”

Cas gazed after the man as he strode quickly down the steps to the platform, everyone moving out of his way like Moses parting the red sea. He was tall, broad-shouldered too, his camel wool coat—probably cashmere mix—swung out behind him like a cape.

Something hit him on the arm, and he looked down at his lap to see one of Gabe’s candies. He glanced out of the ticket office window, but for once there was no one waiting, perhaps it was finally the end of the Christmas eve rush, everyone heading home early, to be with their families.

“Hannah?” he questioned, his tone suddenly flat when he recalled where _he_ would be on Christmas Day. “Why would she care?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Well you did sound sarcastic and you know how hot she is on customer service skills.”

Castiel sat back on his stool and frowned. He hadn’t intended to be sarcastic but he went back through the conversation—if it could be called that—to check.

“ _Sorry to inconvenience you, Sir!”_ Gabriel mimicked. “What was that supposed to mean Cassie? I thought you fancied the HLG?”

Gabriel was right, it _did_ sound sarcastic, would have been, had it been anyone else speaking. He was always a little too formal, or so Gabe was always telling him. He groaned and rubbed his forehead. That lawyer probably thought he was an idiot now.

“I’m so bad at this, Gabe.”

Gabriel had once told him he was objectively, if not classically, good looking, whatever that meant, and he’d certainly had a couple of rather dubious offers, late at night, from rich lawyers and bankers, looking for a little discreet fun on the way home. He’d always turned them down. And then there was the flirting, which he invariably failed to notice until it was too late to act on it, or Gabriel had to point it out to him, with much piss-take.

Gabe rolled his eyes.

“You are hopeless, Castiel, absolutely hopeless.”

Castiel handed the next customer their little blue ticket, then rested his chin in his hands and sighed.

“Well it’s not like a fancy lawyer would be interested in someone like me anyway, even if he was, you know, interested in someone like me.”

He’d once seen the man’s business card, when he’d opened his wallet to find his change. Castiel’s till had a habit of breaking down, and more often than not he had to put up the little sign apologising for the lack of card and contactless payments. Handsome Lawyer Guy had obviously been a boy scout, because he always came prepared with change.

“Stranger things have happened, Castiel, like George Clooney finally getting married.” Gave tilted his head as he listened to a muffled platform announcement. “Oh fuck, the one-twenty-five has been delayed again. Wanna bet how many people try to get a refund today?”

“He’s a lawyer at MacLaren, May and Mackintosh,” Castiel said, ignoring the offer. He wasn’t betting away his last ten dollars. “That’s one of the big five.”

Castiel had looked it up one night. Not that he was _stalking_ the man, just _interested._ He lowered his voice, after checking over his shoulder for Hannah’s surveillance. “I found him on LinkedIn. He’s rising really quickly, he was at Stanford too. He must be extremely bright.” Motivated too. The man’s profile had listed his High School, and Castiel hadn’t been able to resist looking that up either. A poorly-performing High School in the depths of Lawrence, Kansas. He admired that kind of drive.

“I bet he gets to travel all over the world on his fancy legal cases.” He sighed again. “I’d love to travel.”

“You’re terrified of flying, Cassie. What are you going to do, swim the Atlantic?”

They’d been through this before, their conversations having a tendency to run on repeat, stuck, as they were, in a booth together for twelve hours, every day.

“I’m terrified of planes,” Castiel explained, for at least the fourth time. “Flying is very graceful, when performed by birds and creatures built to fly. Like, bats and dragonflies, and, and flying squirrels. People aren’t designed to fly. If we were we’d have wings.”

“Tell that to the angels. Uh oh. The platform’s getting crowded,” Gabe remarked, as he let another three people through the ticket gate on his side. “Anyway, what was Hannah saying that made you so grumpy the other day? She asked where you usually went for lunch, so I thought she was finally going to get the courage to ask you out.” He smiled smugly. “You can thank me for it later, in Haribo.”

“How many times have I told you? I’m not interested, I’m—”

“Gay, yes I know, you keep saying. What I say though is, why restrict your choices? I’m straight but I’d like to get my tongue round Hot Lawyer Guy’s swizzle stick, even if he is a bit slick.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

“Handsome Lawyer Guy, not hot. And no, Hannah wasn’t asking me out, and _please_ stop encouraging her, I’ve got enough problems with Balthazar stalking me from the apartment below.” Balthazar, his landlord, was nice enough despite his stalkerish tendencies, but no more his type than Hannah was. “She was just asking me to cover all the Christmas shifts.”

“Again?”

Morosely, he nodded. “Again.”

“Holy crap man, that’s rough.”

He shrugged. “Yes, but as she said, I don’t have any family. It’s only fair, I suppose.”

“It’s not fair to make you work for the last five Christmasses in a row.” Suddenly, Gabe frowned at the little grey screen which displayed a live feed from the platform below. “Shit. Something’s kicking off.”

“What?” Cas scrambled to his feet, leaning over Gabe’s shoulder to peer at the screen.

Three shadowy figures surrounded a much taller figure, one in a billowing coat. As Castiel watched, his chest thumping, one of the smaller figures went to grab at his bag.

“Oh Christ!” He slammed down his security window. “Call the police. I’m going down.”

“Hang on, Cas, we’re not supposed to—”

But Castiel didn’t stay to hear what he wasn’t supposed to do. He ran, as quickly as he could, down the concrete steps, pushing grumbling and delayed passengers out of his path and ignoring the barrage of irate questions about the delayed service.

“Let me through!”

He arrived on the platform, gasping for breath, and the crowd parted a little, showing him the way through to the altercation. The lawyer seemed to be holding his own—he was, after all, at least six foot three—but no one was stepping in to help him.

“Look,” said the lawyer calmly, holding his bag out as Castiel stepped forward. “I’ll give you my wallet, but not the watch. It was my grandfather’s.”

Castiel bit back a groan, even as he sped up again, crossing the circle that had cleared around the little drama.

But he was too late.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel stared down at the prone body on the tracks beneath, his heart thundering in his chest after his mad dash down the stairs.

“Sir! Sir! Are you all right?”

Somewhere behind him he was aware of the three attackers running, pushing through the crowd, but he had no time for them. The delayed one-twenty-five was due any moment, and the man below was out cold, his face ashen, blood trickling down his temple.

“Someone call an ambulance!” He hoped Gabriel was already onto them.

“The next train’s due any minute,” someone on the platform called out, their voice tight with panic. 

Castiel darted a quick glance up the track, to the signal that had just turned green. The train would be coming in any minute now. He gulped, his hands fisting by his sides, as he peered along the platform, straining, hoping to see help on its way. 

But there was no-one else. Everyone on the platform was gawping at him, waiting for him to _do_ something. Apparently _he_ was the adult in the room. “Oh God,” he muttered, and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. It looked like this was on him.

And so he jumped.

He landed heavily, wincing as pain shot through his knee, but he bent down to tug at the lapels of the lawyer’s coat. 

“Sir! You have to wake up.” He shook him a little, hoping to rouse him.

But there was no response. The lawyer was unconscious, probably concussed, his jaw slack and eyes closed. He probably shouldn’t even be moved.

A woman screamed on the platform, and a train’s horn blared, close—too close—as the rails vibrated under his feet. Castiel glanced up; strangely distant. It suddenly felt like he was floating, high above the scene, trapped in unreality, as time slowed and warped.

But the one-twenty-five express was already rounding the corner.

“Oh Jesus!”

Panic spiking in his veins, he shook his head, coming back to life—and then he was on the lawyer, rolling them sideways in a tight embrace, as the train thundered past, its horn bellowing.

#

He must have blacked out himself, for the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the back step of an ambulance, and a brightly dressed EMT was examining his knee.

“I think it’s just a bruise but you’d better come for an x-ray, just in case. You got off lucky, both of you really, considering what could have happened.”

“You’re telling me.” Gabe, his voice strained, was sitting beside him on the step.

Shivering, for all the sun, Castiel stared ahead.

“It took so long,” he whispered. “I couldn’t understand why no one was coming to help me.”

Gabe wrapped the blanket more firmly around his shoulder. “It only took seconds, I followed you down as I called for help. It may have _felt_ like a lifetime for you, but it happened so quickly I couldn’t even get to you.”

“That’s very common in a traumatic incident,” the EMT said, reassuringly. “Now, come along, we need to get that poor young man over to the General and I’d like to get you checked out too.”

“I—can’t afford an ambulance,” Castiel protested, a whole new horror rising up before him. “I can walk.”

“You’ve got insurance through work, Cassie.”

“Yes, but I can’t even afford the co-pay,” he admitted, his voice low.

Gabriel patted his shoulder. “You saved that guy’s life! You shouldn’t suffer.”

“I agree,” said the paramedic. “And as you’re only walking wounded, you can sit on the seat in the back with me and him.” He pointed over his shoulder to the ambulance, where the injured lawyer lay with another EMT leaning over him. “But we need to go _now_ , we’re taking no chances with a nasty concussion like that.”

As Gabe promised to tell Hannah, and play up Castiel’s ‘heroism’ in order to avoid any undesirable consequences, Castiel found himself ushered into the waiting ambulance and pushed into a fold-down seat opposite the trolley.

The doors slammed shut and the ambulance set off with a wail of sirens.

“Sorry about the noise,” said the EMT, checking a small clip on the lawyer’s finger, and recording the reading in the notes on his clipboard.

“Will he be okay?” Castiel didn’t like the look of the man lying opposite. He was ashen, the dark circles standing out starkly on his skin. Although the bleeding temple was now covered with a pristine dressing there was blood matted in his hair.

Somehow he thought Sam wouldn’t like that. His hair always looked so shiny, like something from a Timotei advertisement.

“Hard to say with an injury so close to the temple. Was he conscious at all, do you know?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t think so. No, I got to him straight after he was knocked onto the rails and he was already unconscious then. Is—is that a bad sign?”

The journey to the General was short. Before the paramedic could reply, they had pulled up in the emergency bay, and the EMTs were jumping out.

“Stand to the side, and then follow us in,” said the EMT winking, as he operated the lift. “We’ll pretend you followed us in a cab.”

As they entered the ER, a pretty young woman in nurse’s scrubs appeared, brushing her blond ringlets from her face.

“Hey Benny, what have we here?”

They were soon surrounded by medics, and Castiel trailed behind them, through the doors into what he recognised, from TV shows, to be Resus. That meant the man’s condition was serious, he knew. 

If only he’d gotten there more quickly, he might have been able to stop the gang from pushing Sam onto the rails in the first place.

“We’ll be off then, Jess,” said the nice EMT once he’d finished his handover. “And before I forget, cher, here’s the guy who saved Mr Winchester, jumped on the tracks and all, so take care of him.” He winked at the nurse as he lay his meaty hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I let him ride along, but keep that under your hat. He’ll need an x-ray of his right knee as a precaution.”

“Oh my goodness,” said the nurse, as the paramedic disappeared. “Now come along. Mr Winchester is in the best hands, so let me see to your knee.”

Castiel limped after her. “Are you sure I need an x-ray? That paramedic said it was probably just a bruise.”

She smiled at him as she led him to a wheelchair and flipped up the footplates. “It’s better to check.” And then before he could protest again, he was being conveyed towards the x-ray department. Castiel subsided with a groan. He seemed to be on a conveyor belt he couldn’t escape, at least until the medics had satisfied themselves that he was all right.

It was another hour before he was given the all-clear, and he thanked the nurse, who had been chatting away non-stop, obviously trying to keep his mind off what had happened.

“Now just take it easy, Mr Novak, you’ve had a tough day and it was very brave of you to leap onto the tracks like that. Make sure you take the painkillers for your knee, and if you should find yourself getting any nightmares, startling with loud noises, etc, then please do speak to your doctor. There’s no shame in seeking help, you know!” Jessica ended brightly, returning him to the main waiting room of the ER.

“Can I, how can I find out what happened to—” he began, not knowing whether anyone would be able to tell him anything, but hoping he could at least find out if the man had woken up.

“Mr Winchester?” Jessica finished. “Well I’m afraid only next of kin will be allowed to see him, as he is really quite poorly. But—” she added, with a smile, “You did save his life, so I’ll see if I can find out how he is doing.”

She bustled off down the corridor, and Cas collapsed into one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs. He pulled out his phone and checked the time, barely visible through the cracked screen. Four o’clock, which meant Gabriel would have finished his shift at the ticket office. His leg was aching, and he’d have liked a lift home, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with Gabriel just then. Perhaps if he walked home, slowly, and took his pain meds first. A cab was out of the question, especially as he’d need to spend the last of his month’s money on his prescription.

A sudden commotion in the waiting room drew his attention, as a group of people swarmed through door, all speaking rapidly and over the top of each other, before accosting the receptionist.

“We’re here for Sam Winchester—”

“The hospital just called us. We were all together for Christmas Eve—”

“Except Dean,” said a young woman with blond hair and ripped jeans.

“So we all came together,” finished a plumpish woman in her early fifties. “How is he?”

“Give her a moment Ellen,” said a burly middle-aged man in a thick green sweater. “You’ve all been screeching at the poor woman.” He turned to the receptionist and pulled off his cap.

“We got a call that Sam Winchester had been brought in unconscious.”

Castiel pricked up his ears, and, subtly as possible, eyed them with interest.

“Are you next of kin?”

The middle-aged woman had folded her arms. “We’re family all right.”

The young blond beside her nodded. “I’m his sister.”

“Don’t need blood to make family,” said the man in the sweater. “Sam Winchester don’t have no blood family, ‘cept Dean, and he aint here. But we’re family all the same.”

The receptionist sighed and looked down at her screen.

“We’re only supposed to let next of kin in. You’ll have to stay very calm. He’s stable now, but still unconscious.”

The young blonde clapped her hand across her mouth. “Still?”

“I’m practically his mother, God rest her soul,” argued the older blonde woman, possibly the mother of the girl in ripped jeans.

“And that makes me his dad. His own weren’t no good.”

“You’d better go through then,” said the receptionist, turning with relief as Dean’s nurse, Jess, reappeared. “The nurse here will take you to him. Nurse Moore, these are Sam Winchester’s… _parents_?” She ended on a dubious note.

Jessica pointed towards the door. “Come this way, please.” She cast an apologetic glance towards Castiel, still seated in the waiting room, and ushered the older couple before her. “Only family can visit.”

“We _are_ his family.” The older man shoved his cap back on his head as Jess waved him through.

Castiel sighed as he watched them pass by, so anxious, so determined to see Sam. 

“And I’m just the man who was supposed to marry him.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next thing Castiel knew, he was being dragged into the private ward behind the three people who had arrived demanding to see Sam Winchester. He stared at Jessica in confusion, trying to signal his question with his eyes, but smiling, she pulled him into the room and shut the doors behind them all. Trapping him.

There was a gasp from the woman who’d said she was practically a mother to Sam, as she made directly for the bed.

“Oh, Bobby, look at him, the poor baby!”

The older man—Bobby—patted her shoulder, though he too, looked terrified. “Don’t take on so, Ellen. He’s a strong lad, he’ll pull through.”

Sam lay still and pale in the high hospital bed, his usually glossy hair dull and matted with dried blood. He was hooked up to various machines which bleeped and flashed in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring but reminded Castiel of every medical drama he’d ever watched. At some point they’d all start screeching and nurses would appear with those paddles.

He passed a hand over his face.

“He’s stabilised,” Jess reassured them, taking up the clipboard which hung from the end of his bed. “His doctor will be along in a moment to talk to you.”

“Who’s this then, another doctor?” demanded Bobby, gesturing at Castiel.

“He might be a nurse, Bobby,” put in the younger blonde woman.

Castiel, hesitating by the doors behind Jess, moved his gaze from the bed.

“Oh,” he faltered. “I’m just Castiel. Not a doctor, or any kind of medic.” He suspected Jess wasn’t really supposed to let him in. “I’ll, um, I was just—”

“Who are you then?” demanded the woman, Ellen, apparently. “He’s not religious, he don’t need a priest.”

“He’s your son’s fiancé,” said Jessica, glancing up from the medical notes.

“Fiancé!” gasped Ellen, staring at Castiel, and he stared back, momentarily speechless.

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “I think you should know that Mr Novak here saved your son’s life. If anyone deserves to be here, it’s him.”

“Saved Sam’s life?”

“Sam’s _gay_?”

Ellen, and the blonde girl stared at him with very similar expressions of open-mouthed horror.

Nurse Jessica bristled beside him. “If Mr Novak hadn’t jumped onto that train track—in front of an express train, I might add—your son would not be here now.”

“You jumped on the _track_! But what was Sam even _doing_ on the track?” whispered the blonde girl, and they all turned back to gaze at Castiel.

“Um, a gang was trying to steal his watch, the Rolex, you know,” Castiel glanced at the older man uncertainly. He was the only one who hadn’t said anything. “They pushed him on the tracks when he refused to give it up. But, you know I’m not actually—”

“Oh my goodness.” Her hand pressed to her chest, Ellen staggered backwards, and her daughter sprang forwards with a shout.

“Are you okay, Mrs Winchester?” Jessica dropped the notes on the foot of the bed, and moved swiftly to her side.

Castiel stepped forward too, all confessions momentarily forgotten. The poor woman had turned a frightening ash grey colour.

“She’s got a heart condition, never recovered from a vicious dog attack a few years ago,” said the girl. “And her name’s Ellen Harvelle.”

“Could drop down dead from the slightest shock,” added Bobby, as Jessica and the blonde girl helped Mrs Harvelle to a seat. “And she’s certainly had a few today.”

“My meds, Jo,” Ellen shoved her handbag towards her daughter.

Jessica stood with her fingers on the woman’s pulse, as Jo fumbled in the bag for the pills.

“I’ll get you some water and ask a doctor to take a quick look at you, Ma’am.” Jessica drew Castiel to one side. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and this family, but whatever they think of you and how you live your life, just try not to let this get out of hand. I don’t want to hear any arguments, no raised voices, this lady needs to stay quiet or we’ll have _both_ of them in intensive care.”

She hurried out, leaving Castiel standing awkwardly by the door, half turning to follow Jess.

“You’d better come in,” Ellen gasped from her chair, her lips were a bluish-grey colour. “What did you say your name was?”

“Castiel—Castiel Novak,” he said, wondering whether it would make things better or worse for them to be told the truth now. Perhaps he should wait, at least until the older lady looked a little better.

“How did you meet Sam?”

“Sam’s never mentioned you,” said Bobby, his arm tucked protectively around his wife.

“At work,” Castiel replied, stepping towards her. “I work for the Chicago Transit Authority, at Randolph/Wasbah, the station near his legal firm. But,” he added. Oh God, this was unbelievably embarrassing, but he had to tell them the truth. “I think you should know—”

A slim redhead in doctor’s scrubs burst through the door, nearly knocking Castiel over in her haste to get through. She made straight for the bed, and scooped up the clipboard. “I heard he’d been admitted, is Dean here yet?”

Ellen looked up, the tense lines around her eyes relaxing a little. “Oh Charlie! I’m so glad to see you. It’s all so _crazy_.” She shook her head as though trying to clear it. “Sam’s unconscious, and we got here, and suddenly we found out about, well, him!” She pointed at Castiel. “He’s Sam’s _fiancé_!”

Castiel knew he had to stop it, before it went any further, but he couldn’t make himself heard in the hubbub that broke out as three different people tried to give the doctor three different versions of the story, whilst Castiel tried vainly to get a word in.

Eventually Sam’s own doctor arrived to run some more tests, and with a word of dismay at the noise they were making, he shepherded them all out into the corridor and shut the door firmly behind them.

“Take Ellen home,” said the red-headed doctor, after sitting her on a chair in the hall, and listening to her heart with a stethoscope. “She should be in bed.”

“I can’t leave Sam,” Ellen protested as Jo went to help her on with her coat. “Not like this, not _alone_ , Charlie.”

“You need rest, Ellen. You can’t take risks.” Charlie attempted a reassuring smile. “And Sam would kill me if he woke up to find you’d made your heart worse. Dean too.”

“But—”

Castiel stepped forward. “I—I can stay, Mrs Harvelle, if you’ll go home and rest.”

“I’ll stay too,” said Charlie. “My shift’s just finished.” She shepherded the subdued little group to the elevator, before turning turned a bright but ominous smile on Castiel.

“Let’s go down to the canteen and grab a drink, while the doc’s in there with Sam. It sounds like you’ve a lot to tell me…”


	5. Chapter 5

“So,” said Charlie, dropping to a seat at the far end of the long, brightly lit hall, and pushing a cup of canteen coffee towards him. “I hear you’re going to be Sam’s husband… You’ve met Dean of course?”

“Not yet,” he said cautiously, and sipped at his coffee. Sam’s brother Dean, he’d come to understand from the general chatter earlier, was off across country seeing some car he wanted to buy or something.

“Oh,” said Charlie, meditatively, painting pictures on the sugar-strewn table. “I find that a little strange. They’re so close.”

“Maybe he was worried about what Dean would say,” he tried, unsure what Charlie’s relationship was to the family. “I’m, well, let’s face it, I have a penis. And I sell train tickets for a living. I’m probably not what the family was expecting.”

He could see they were fairly well off, if a little rough around the edges. New middle classes, probably. Certainly a lot better off than _he_ was.

Charlie huffed a little laugh.

“Dean’s the last person to worry about that.”

Castiel stared at her blankly.

“About me being a man… or selling tickets?”

She shrugged. “Both. Either. I’m Dean’s best friend, and I’m so gay I practically sparkle.”

“Sometimes it’s different when it’s family.” He spoke from experience.

“That’s true,” She looked him over for a full minute, frowning, before appearing to come to some decision. “I don’t really know what to say here.”

Suddenly alert, Castiel set his cup carefully on the table. “Try me.”

If Charlie was Dean’s best friend, then the game was probably up, and frankly, at this point, it would a relief.

Charlie shook her head.

“I hope I’m not putting my foot in it here, I do tend to do that.” She paused, then frowned again. “But what I’m really confused about is how Sam Winchester could have _two_ fiancees! And only one of them with two ees.”

“Two ees?” It was all he could think to say.

She curved her little finger to a banana shape, then nodded towards his crotch.

“The penis issue.”

Castiel sat in frozen silence, before cursing, and dropping his head in his hands.

Not only had he accidentally wormed his way inside Sam Winchester’s family, causing no end of confusion, but now he was ousting another fiancee, with an extra ‘e’ this time.

In the back of his mind, his stupidly romantic mind, he’d had a thought that, _perhaps,_ when Sam came round—which he would, he _would_ , eventually—then what if they hit it off? Sam had always been polite, which was more than most people were, and he even sometimes commented on the weather, or gave him that distracted little wave.

On his way down in the lift, a tiny and very stupid part of his mind had even conjured up a whole scenario where Sam asked to see the man who had saved him, and they’d met and Castiel explained away the whole confusion… and it had all been a bit fuzzy after that, but eyes had met across a crowded room, and Sam had invited him out for a drink and—

But no, he’d messed that up too. They would just think he was a lunatic now. They might even think _he’d_ pushed Sam on the tracks, just to have an opportunity to save him and weasel his way in.

“Oh God.” He groaned and dropped his hands to the table. “Look Charlie, I think I’d better come clean.”

Her smile was sympathetic, but still wary.

“I can’t imagine Sam Winchester as a bigamist, and much as I hate Ruby and would be glad to see the back of her, I want to protect this family too. They’re the only family I’ve got now.”

“Ruby?”

“His _other_ fiancée. The one with an extra e.”

He rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t even know Sam, not really. He’s a customer, we pass the time of day occasionally, and he—well, he’s very handsome, though not my usual type, and he was nice to me, instead of rude like most of the customers.” He looked up at her beseechingly. “It was just a fantasy. You have no idea how boring it is sitting in that booth, day after day, when I want to be out on the open road but can barely even afford a trip downtown on the transit.”

“I can understand how it started,” she said, her eyes flickering over his face. “I don’t like dick, but Sam’s a stud, and a nice guy, if he has become a bit materialistic since starting with that cut throat law firm—and getting involved with Ruby.” Her gaze was softer now, kinder. “But how on earth did you go from admiring the handsome prince from afar, to winding up in his hospital room engaged to him?”

Castiel shrugged and raised his hands in surrender.

“That wasn’t even my fault, not really. I was hanging around to see how he was, and they wouldn’t tell me, because I’m not family, and then there was a nurse…” He thought he’d better withhold her name. “Well, she overheard me say something stupid about wanting to marry him. It was just to myself, and it didn’t mean anything, but of course, she thought it did, and before I knew what was happening, I was in Sam’s room, being announced as his fiancé, and then Ellen collapsed, and I didn’t know what to do.” He sighed. “You have to believe me, none of this was intentional.”

Charlie bit back a gurgling laugh.

“Oh my goodness, you have had a day. Dean’s gonna find this absolutely hysterical.” She laid a soothing hand on his wrist. “Did this nurse have blonde curly hair, by any chance? Don’t worry, she won’t get into trouble.”

Reluctantly, he nodded.

“Ah. It all becomes clear, now.” She chuckled, and Castiel raised his gaze in hope. “Jessica Moore is a sweetheart, and an excellent nurse, but she is also _extremely_ romantic. If romantic is spelt with a capital R and has heart shaped dots over the ‘i’ and comes stamped on a pink balloon.” She sat back in her seat, with a smile of relief. “Don’t worry, Castiel, I can see exactly how it happened.”

“What shall I do? I need to tell the family, and with this Ruby person too, I don’t want to cause trouble between them.”

Charlie shook her head.

“The family don’t even know about Ruby. I think Dean disliked her so much, Sam wanted to wait a bit before introducing her to the family. Honestly, I think they only got engaged because she was pressurising him.” She touched his hand again. “I’m glad you told me the truth. Given how on and off Sam’s relationship with Ruby was, there was always the slightest possibility that he had gone and proposed to someone else whilst they were on another break. And Sam’s always been pro-equality, so there was also a little bit of me wondering if perhaps he hadn’t always been _just_ an ally all these years.”

“How are we going to tell them?” Castiel asked, his heart already sinking at the thought. “I don’t want to make Ellen ill with shock.”

Charlie took a long gulp of coffee, her forehead screwed up in a frown.

“Let me think about this. I’m not so sure whether… Ellen Harvelle is very unwell. This is gonna be tricky. The slightest shock could cause her heart to fail.”

Castiel groaned. “So how—”

She held up her hand. “Which is why I think _you_ are going to have to continue as Mr Winchester-to-be, at least until Sam wakes up from his coma.” She waved her hand, as though batting any problems away. “We can sort the details out later.”

“He’s in a coma?” His chest tightened. He knew people didn’t always wake up from comas.

“That’s just what we call a prolonged period of unconsciousness.,” she said, kindly. “We don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he probably will. The Harvelles—that’s Ellen, her daughter Jo, and her second husband Bobby Singer—are frantic with worry, especially as Ellen’s first husband died of a head injury sustained in a hunting accident. It’s got to be bringing back all sorts of bad memories, on top of the trauma of Sam being hurt. They’re broken and lost, just now, but you’ve given them something new to think about.” She smiled up at him, her eyes warm. “They’ve just met you, and they want to get to know you, both as Sam’s fiancé, and the man who risked his own life to save Sam’s. I think at this moment you are the only thing preventing that family from imploding with grief.”

Castiel sat back in his chair and scrubbed his hand through his hair.

“I’m not sure I can go through with this, Charlie. The deception, it feels very wrong.”

“I know, and if you’d said anything different, I’d be wondering it I was doing the right thing.” She patted his arm. “But think of it this way. You’ve done this family an injury, albeit unintentionally, by pretending to be their prospective son-in-law. If you tell the truth now, when they’ve nothing else to do but worry, you’re going to make things even worse. You could even kill Ellen Harvelle. So you need to stick it out. Try not to lie more than you must, but spend time with them, distract them. All you have to do is hang on until Sam comes out of the coma, and then they’ll be so happy they won’t care.”

“And what about Sam’s brother?”

If they were as close as Charlie said, this Dean had to be making his way back even as they spoke.

“Dean?” Her eyes twinkling, she gave him a sudden smile. “Don’t you worry about Dean, I’ll deal with him.”


	6. Chapter 6

After his early shift the next day he stopped in at the hospital, a thin and slightly bedraggled bunch of flowers clutched in his hands. The lady at the florist had been about to throw them away, leftovers of the Christmas bouquets she’d been selling all week, but Castiel had offered to clear the freshly fallen snow from the pavement in front of the store. He rather thought she’d taken pity on him, and that rankled, but either way he was at the hospital and he had something to give Sam.

“Oh Castiel, those are lovely!” Ellen was sitting by the bed, Sam’s pale, lifeless hand held in her own. Beside her, Jo scowled.

“It’s all the shop had left,” Castiel explained, pulling off his hat and scarf. It was true, if a little disingenuous, but given the scale of the wider deception he was pulling off, perhaps that was by the by. “How is he today? I couldn’t get away from my shift any earlier.”

“Do you _really_ work at a CTA ticket booth?” Jo asked, her arms folded, her gaze suspicious.

“Joanna Beth!” Ellen turned on her open-mouthed. “You _know_ that’s not how you were raised. This family made its money from a scrapyard and a bar where I started as a waitress, so don’t you go pretending you’re at some country club in the Hamptons.

“It’s all right—” Castiel began, but Ellen interrupted him.

“It’s not all right, and if Jo weren’t eating herself up with jealousy, she’d know that.”

Jo’s jaw dropped. “I’m not _jealous_ of him. I don’t even care that he’s gay. I just think it’s strange, that’s all, that Sam never mentioned him.”

Ellen shook her head. She was obviously in better form than the first day they’d met. “Just you remember that without this young man, there wouldn’t _be_ a Sam.”

Jo looked startled, and a little sheepish, whilst Ellen turned back to Castiel, rolling her eyes as if to say, ‘teenagers, huh’.

He gave her a small smile.

“How is he?”

Ellen’s face softened. “Of course, you must be so worried. He’s stable, the doctor says. Here, come and take my place.”

Castiel shook his head, moving to find space for the flowers on the crowded bedside table. Sam had lots of cards and flowers, balloons even. He was obviously well-liked, but where then, was this fiancée? Surely Charlie would let her know her fiancé was in a coma, even if she didn’t seem to like her very much?

And then what would happen to him?

Something must have shown on his face, for a warm arm wrapped around him, and his nose filled with the scent of Chanel No 5, the scent his mother used to wear. He pressed his eyes closed as Ellen gathered him into an embrace.

“He’ll be okay, Castiel. He’s always been so big and strong. He even survived a house-fire when he was a baby, you know.”

“A house-fire?” He opened his eyes.

“Well yes… Didn’t he ever tell you? That’s what killed his mother, and finished his father, though he struggled on for a while.”

“Dean saved his life,” put in Jo, from her chair by the bed. She was watching him with curious eyes. “I still can’t believe you haven’t met him.”

Castiel stepped back from Ellen’s arms, and moved toward Sam, lying silent, but perhaps with slightly more colour than before, in the hospital bed. He patted him on the shoulder, unwilling to take any—more—liberties with an unconscious man.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“You must come to us tomorrow night, Castiel. We’re determined to have that Christmas after all.”

Unconsciously, his eyes drifted to Sam, and Ellen gave him a small smile.

“I know it looks callous, when Sam’s lying there like that, but he’d be the first person to insist we celebrate. Family is very important to him, to _all_ of us.”

Castiel blinked back a sudden dampness in his eyes.

“What Mom’s not saying is that she’s got an enormous turkey in the fridge, and at least six pies,” put in Jo, who seemed to have had a change of heart. “If you don’t come and help us we are going to roll into New Year.”

“You—you barely know me,” he protested, torn between longing for a family Christmas at last, and the knowledge that spending more time with Sam’s family would only make it harder, on all of them, when the truth came out.

Ellen got to her feet, and laid her hand on his shoulder. “All we know, and all we need to know, is that you saved Sam, and you’re going to marry him. That makes you family now.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, averting his gaze, as Ellen tucked a piece of paper into his fingers. “I—I’ll be there.”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” she called, as he struggled back into his coat and stumbled towards the door, his head bowed.

Blindly he nodded, before, half tripping over a short dark man in a grey overcoat, he headedstraight for the nearest restroom.

Luckily it was deserted, and he was able to sponge his face with paper towels without anyone coming in and seeing him in such a state. When, at last, he felt his eyes wouldn’t betray him, he pulled his hat and scarf back on, and walked swiftly towards the elevator.

“Hold that for me.”

The man he had tripped over earlier was hurrying towards the elevator, a large cardboard box in his arms. Castiel obliged, holding the doors until he was safely inside.

“Didn’t I see you coming out of Sam’s room earlier?” the dark-haired man, asked, stabbing at the elevator button.

Castiel nodded. “I’m sorry if I—”

“Crowley.” The short, stocky man shuffled the cardboard box in his arms, and thrust out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you. Suppose you must be this surprise fiance everyone’s talking about.”

Castiel nodded and returned the pressure, which was more forceful than he’d expected. “You’re one of Sam’s colleagues?” he guessed, going by the expensive suit and briefcase, though his accent was obviously British.

“I gave him the internship that won him this job, but I knew him from LawSoc,” Crowley said.He was a puffed up little man, with a broad chest, and balding hairline.

“You attended the same school?” Castiel hazarded, feeling his way through the conversation. “Stanford’s a long way from Chicago—and London.”

Crowley winked. “Sometimes that’s a good thing. No, I’ve known Sam, and Dean, since Sam was a freshman. I was there when he graduated too, in fact I was there when he got that ridiculous tat.” He shook his head. “Bloody hell, he was sozzled that night. Dean too. Matching anti-possession tattoos on his arse-cheek, for God’s sake. I’m just glad I was sober enough to refuse to join in.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Not your style?”

“Not on your nelly, dear.”

The elevator bell dinged as they reached the first floor.

“I suppose I’d better give you this then, his ‘effects’ aka anything in his pockets on the day.” Crowley nodded at the box as they made for the front doors of the hospital. “I was going to drop it off at his place, keep it safe, but I guess you’ll be going back there now. It's got his house key, and his shopping bags, and whatever the hell else he was carrying around.”

Wordlessly, Castiel let the box be transferred into his arms. What on _earth_ was he supposed to do with Sam’s stuff?

“Oh, thanks. I’ll, yes, I’ll take care of it.” He pointed towards the bus station. “I’ve um, I’ve got to head home now. It was nice to meet you.”

Shark-like, Crowley grinned and waved. “You watch out for that Dean, and if anyone suggests a tattoo, you plead the 5th amendment, all right?”


	7. Chapter 7

Gabriel’s mouth dropped open, a lone candy cane dropping to the floor of the ticket booth.

“You can’t be serious, Cassie? Are you seriously telling me that the entire, what did you call them, the Winchester-Harvelle-Singer family, the _entire_ Winchester-Harvelle-Singer family, thinks you’re engaged to their son?”

“Their previously entirely straight son, yes.”

“It’s always the good-looking ones.” Gabriel heaved an exaggerated sigh, and kicked the candy cane outside the booth.

Fortunately it was the end of the day and the ticket booth was closed. All that was left for them to do was count up and pull down the shutters.

Castiel frowned as he counted out the notes. “Have you turned into an old lady? Because that’s what they usually say when it’s the other way round. And anyway, you’re straight.”

“Sam Winchester is my exception.”

“Well he’s marrying me, so there.” Castiel retorted, though he was far from as sanguine as he sounded.

He was relieved he’d left the news until the end of the shift, or he’d have been tortured for hours. Though he couldn’t escape even then, as Gabriel had already offered him a lift home, to save his knee.

“Cassie, Cassie Cassie Cassie.” Gabriel twirled on his stool, then leaned in, his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “You can’t keep up this deception! What are you going to do when this Dean character comes home? You said he _knows_ that Sam is engaged to that woman.”

“Charlie, that’s the doctor, said she’d sort it out.”

“And the doc is okay with you pulling the wool over this family’s eyes for the most spurious of reasons?”

Castiel shrugged. “She thought it would be better to keep it going until Sam regains consciousness.”

“And you _agreed?_ Castiel, you can’t sleep with guilt if you tell the tiniest white lie! This could go on for months. They could be planning the wedding for all you know, then Sam wakes up you’ll end up in some soap-worthy hospital wedding before you can say ‘well actually I just pretended to be his fiancé because…’” He lifted his palms. “Because _why?_ ”

Castiel dropped his head to his hands. He knew he was pathetic, but he was being offered something he hadn’t had for a very long time.

“Because, because I’m lonely, and he was kind…”

“Kinda snooty too though.” Gabriel frowned, his fingers tapping on the cash register. “You know, he’s hot, but there’s something about him. I’m not sure I trust him. Though if he’s unconscious I’m not sure what harm he could do.”

“He was kind,” Castiel repeated. “And now his family’s being kind too. They’ve invited me for their postponed Christmas, and New Year too, though I expect Sam will have woken up by then. Gabriel, I’ve not been to a family Christmas since I was a child!”

“Okay,” said Gabriel, holding up one finger. “Firstly, I think you’ll find that Christmas is overrated.” He shuddered. “Seriously. Family like mine, grim. In fact I’m thinking of pretending to be getting married just so I can justify spending Christmas on my own next year. If it gets much worse, I’ll have to fake my own death too.”

“I haven’t had a family Christmas since I was fifteen.”

“With a family like yours, Cassie, you can only count that as an advantage. Secondly.” Gabriel held up a second finger. “They’re only inviting you because they think you’re going to marry their son. Hate to break this to you, kid, but it’s not because they’re overwhelmed by the beauty of your character and the rose-petal freshness of your face.”

“Let me have this,” Castiel urged, his chin on his hands. “I know it’s ridiculous, I _know_ Sam Winchester would never go for someone like me, but, just for once, I want a family for Christmas.”


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel walked past the Singer household for the third time that night. He was trying not to stare too obviously, but no one seemed to be looking out for him. Had they _really_ wanted him to attend? It was selfish, using their desperation to fulfil his need for a family, but the light and laughter from within just looked so _warm_.

It was a good-sized house in an up and coming suburb. Smaller than his grandparents’ house had been, but a lot more welcoming, with the sparkling Christmas lights, and a carefully tended lawn at the front. In the driveway was parked a large van, with ‘Singer and Son Salvage’ marked on the side.

He passed by one more time, looking longingly into the sitting room where a tree sat by the window, ablaze with light. Someone, Jo probably, laughed from within.

It was wrong. He couldn’t do it. He stood in front of the house, and pressed his eyes closed. No, he had to leave. However hurt they’d be if he didn’t turn up, it wouldn’t be half so bad as their hurt if he continued ingratiating himself into this family, only for Sam to wake up and tell them it was all a stupid lie. He had to do the sensible thing.

Having decided that, he shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned, reluctantly, away.

“Hey, Castiel! Where are you off to?” A familiar voice sounded in his ear, and Castiel winced as red-mittened hands swung him around by the shoulders.

“Where were you sloping off to?”

“Doctor Bradbury. I didn’t realise you’d be here. I was just going to drop off this gift, and then I’d…”

He lifted the giftbag with the bottle of wine he’d used the last of his electricity money to buy.

She batted him on the arm. “I told you, it’s Charlie, especially when I’m off duty. And you can’t just drop that and run, they’ve invited you.”

“They’ve invited me because they think I’m engaged to their son. And you know, and I know, that that’s not true.” He shook his head, stupid tears gathering once more in the corner of his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Charlie peered at him, then tucked his hand beneath her arm. It would have been comforting if he hadn’t know she would try to sway him.

“I know for a fact that Ellen Harvelle and Bobby Singer would not dream of letting the man who saved Sam’s life spend Christmas alone. Whoever he was.”

He tamped down the flickering of hope in his chest. “Really—but, that’s not the point. I’d be going under false pretences.”

“I’ll explain everything to them, when Sam’s awake. I’ll tell them I rail-loaded you into it, they’re used to me and my ways.”

He faltered. “You don’t need to do that, I’m the one who started this whole mess.”

Charlie shook her head. “Castiel, I don’t know how to put this any more clearly, but if the people in that house knew you were alone at Christmas, and even if you had no connection whatsoever with them, they would _still_ invite you over. That’s just the kind of people they are. They adopted me because my own parents died, and you _do_ know Sam and Dean aren’t even related to Bobby, _or_ Ellen, right? Bobby took them in when both their parents had died, and they’ve been family ever since. All waifs and strays welcome!”

Castiel tried to pull away his hand. “I’m sure they’re lovely people, they’ve certainly… they been so kind to me already.And that’s exactly why I can’t trick them like this, it’s not honest. And anyway,” he added, finally coming up with an unanswerable objection. “Dean might be there, and he’s going to know truth.”

“Oooh.” Charlie bit her lip, considering. “I’d forgotten Dean might be back. Well that settles it.” She turned to the house and cupped her hands to her mouth before emitting an ear-splitting yodel, bringing an answering shout from within.

Castiel’s jaw dropped. “Charlie!”

“Merry Christmas!”

And then she was tugging him along the path to the house, and before he could protest, the front door was open, light spilling down the steps.

“Charlie, _Castiel_ , welcome!”

“Look everyone, Castiel’s come with Charlie!” Jo seemed to have had a change of heart.

“We’ve been waiting for you, but there’s still time for Ellen’s eggnog before dinner,” Bobby announced, drawing them into the warm, bright hallway.

“My shift ran-over,” Charlie said airily, pulling off her mittens, “But I’m glad there’s time for Eggnog.”

“It’s lethal,” she whispered to Castiel in an aside, as eager hands took his coat and threadbare hat.

Later, he reflected, he’d had no choice, really. For once Charlie dragged him up the steps there was no way he could get out of it. He handed over his modest gift, and it was welcomed as though he’d flown personally to a French vineyard to find it, and then Ellen was pulling him through to a warm sitting room scented with pine and spices. He found himself in a seat near the fire, to ‘warm him through’, whilst the infamous eggnog and sausage rolls and cheese sticks were pressed on him. For someone so used to being solitary, the noise was overwhelming.

“Dean’s got stuck, some bad weather en route,” Jo announced, trying to sneak some eggnog from Charlie’s glass.

Charlie let her.

“This is Pamela, a family friend.”

A striking looking blonde waved in his general direction as Bobby settled the doctor with a plate and drink.

“You must try these stollen bites,” Ellen shoved a plate of little squared cakes at him.

“Give the man whisky, none of this eggnog rubbish.”

“Oh hush, Rufus, he needs warming up.”

“Whisky’ll warm him up just fine.”

“He’s very handsome.” That was Ellen, to the lady called Pamela. “No, we didn’t know either. But that’s the world today isn’t it? No one’s straight anymore, they say.”

“Love is love,” put in Charlie with a smile at Castiel.

How could they all be so, so _normal_ when Sam was lying unconscious in a hospital bed? He turned to sample the stollen as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him.

“…hasn’t met Dean.”

“I know, it was a secret. Very romantic.”

“And I said, we’ll give you three grand for the lot, but he wasn’t having any of it.”

“…he look like?”

“…jumped on the track, saved his life!”

“In the old days, men asked permission before asking for someone’s hand.”

“These electric cars, no heart to them.”

“Blue eyes, dark hair. A little messy, he was wearing a hat of course.”

“Yes but who should ask who in this case, Rufus?”

“Sam drives a Prius, what do you drive, Castiel?”

“Shorter than Dean, just a little.”

“A ticket-booth on the transport system, if you’ll believe it.”

“What attracted you to Sam, then Castiel?”

Overwhelmed, Castiel did not immediately notice Pamela’s question, let alone reply, and then Charlie nudged him and shifted her gaze towards Pamela, staring, sightless from her chair on the other side of the fire.

“Sorry,” he said, his face flushing. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“That’s okay.” Pamela chuckled. “This family is a shock to the system if you’re not used to it. I was just asking, Castiel, what first attracted you to Sam?” She grinned conspiratorially. “If he’s a cute as he was when I last saw him, I can guess…”

Castiel turned to Charlie, who only winked at him. “Come on, Castiel, what was it that attracted you to the lovely Sam Winchester?”

“Oh God.” He rubbed his hands through his hair. “Well, he _is_ very handsome of course, though he’s not my usual type. Um. His smile, I suppose that was the first thing I noticed.”

“He does have a lovely smile,” said Ellen.

“I should hope so, it cost him thousands.”

“Oh hush, Bobby, it wasn’t a bad smile, just a little crooked.”

“I thought it had charm,” said Pamela.

“There was nothing _wrong_ with his smile in the first place, Ellen.” Bobby retreated to hallway, muttering about ’stuck-up law school and that Crowley person’, and letting in a savoury aroma of turkey and roast potatoes.

Charlie was giggling behind her drink, and even Jo winked at him. He decided to leave the smile alone, as it was obviously contentious.

He smiled down into his eggnog. “It was his kindness,” he said at last. “Most people are rude to people like me, but Sam was polite, and he’s so tall, but he’d use that to help people, like protecting little old ladies, using his body to shield them so they didn’t get knocked down on the stairs. And he always gives up his seat on the train.”

“He was used to doing that with Mom,” Jo put in, having either overdone the eggnog or developed a death wish.

“Right,” said Ellen, getting to her feet. “You’re on washing up duty tonight, young lady.”

She turned to Castiel. “You’ve had your eggnog, now it’s time for Turkey.” She turned to the rest of the room. "We can't wait for Dean, or the turkey will be shrivelled dry. Come along everyone. It's Christmas."


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the evening continued in the same vein, with plenty of alcohol, delicious food and rowdy company. It was so utterly, completely different from his memories of his own family, that Castiel was left bewildered and envious in equal measure.

Thanks to Charlie’s ingenuity, he’d managed to avoid any more awkward questions, though Pamela had been seeking him out for a gossip, he was sure, and Jo still side-eyed him from time to time. Thankfully the eggnog had gotten to her in the end, and she'd swayed upstairs bemoaning the fact that Dean hadn’t made it home. He was beginning to wonder whether there had ever been anything between her and this Dean, of it was merely a teenage crush.

Everyone seemed to feel Dean’s absence, but when he’d asked Charlie about it, she’d just winked and told him to wait and see. But if family was that important, surely he would have made it home on time for Christmas, especially with his brother in hospital.

The house was already crammed full, with Pamela, Rufus and Charlie all taking over the guest-rooms, and with many apologies on both sides, a slightly tipsy Castiel was installed on the big couch in the living room, finally falling asleep to the sound of cracking logs in the open fireplace.

\-----

Later, much later, he awoke to voices, opening his eyes to see the first tendrils of morning sunshine spanning the deserted living room.

“It’s Sam’s fiance!”

“ _That’s_ not Sam’s fiance!” The man's voice was rich and deep. Also, deeply, deeply unconvinced.

“You didn’t know about Castiel either, huh?” Jo’s voice was a whisper.

“ _Casti-what?_ What kinda name’s that? No. Sam didn’t tell me anything. I thought, well... I guess I never thought I’d see _this_ ,” the voice trailed off, and Castiel, lying on the couch, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Didn’t Mom tell you?”

“Only that you’d all met Sam’s fiancee. That’s why I set off straight away, I didn’t want that Ruby chick gettin’ her claws into all of you too. The snow put paid to that idea though. I can’t believe it’s taken me three whole days to get home.”

“Take off your coat, Dean. It’s damp and Mom needs you, so we don’t want you going down with the flu.”

“I need her.” There was a thump and a rustle. “And you say this Cast _eel_ guy saved Sam’s life?”

Silence.

Then. “Huh. So, how did it go down, with folks. ‘Bout Sam being, you know…”

“I don’t think anyone cared. They love Sam, and you know he can do no wrong in Mom’s eyes.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” There was a clap of hands. “It’s all right for Sam then, huh. Ditches his druggy fiancee, finds a ho– finds himself a new fiance, gets his life saved. If he wasn’t lying’ in that hospital bed, I’d be jealous.”

Castiel slowed his breathing. To anyone watching he must have appeared fast asleep.

“What’s he like then?”

Jo snorted. “I wasn’t sure at first… He doesn’t seem like Sam’s usual type—besides the obvious of course—but I think he’s growing on me. Mom _loves_ him, the others too.”

“Even Bobby?” In a tone of disbelief.

“Uhuh. Charlie too. Come on, I’ll make you a hot drink and then you can get some sleep.”

\----

Castiel waited, breathing quietly and evenly, until the house was quiet once more, and he judged all danger had passed. He checked his phone. It was only seven; if he left straight away he could get to his morning shift on time, and hopefully avoid meeting Dean and the interrogation that would surely follow.

Moving quietly, he gathered up the gifts he’d been surprised with the previous night. A new hat and glove set from Ellen, a bottle of whisky from Bobby, a framed photo of Sam from Jo. He’d almost cried when he saw the hastily-made stocking hanging next to all the others on the fireplace, his name, ‘Castiel’ tacked onto the fabric with broad stitches.

And he’d had so little to offer in return.

His shoes were in the hallway still, so, with a last check of the room, he folded the blanket and placed it neatly at the end of the couch. Then he drew his now-bulging rucksack over his shoulder, and opened the door to the hall.

All was quiet and he crept forward, lifted his old trench coat from the coat stand, and bent to pick up his shoes.

“Good morning.”

Castiel froze as that voice, the same deep slightly broken voice, came from somewhere behind him.

He turned, and his jaw dropped.

Dean Winchester was _gorgeous_. He had sandy brown hair, green eyes and a stubbled jaw. Admittedly, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he was still the most handsome man Castiel had ever set eyes on, with upturned lips and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks.

They stared at each other, Castiel’s pulse suddenly tripping.

“You’re—not what I expected,” Castiel began, because his brain had apparently lost control over his mouth.

“You’re not a chick,” Dean retorted, and then looked like he wanted to smack himself in the face.

“Not last time I looked, no.” Castiel looked him over. Dean was sitting on the stairs, a newspaper in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other. Had he been waiting there for hours, to see Castiel—or to interrogate him?

“Er, sorry.” Dean scrubbed his hand through his hair. “That came out wrong. I don’t, I don’t have a problem with it. Just so ya know. Just surprised Sam didn’t tell me. And in desperate need of sleep.”

“It was quite a sudden development,” Castiel replied, keeping as close to the truth as he could.

“Musta been.” Dean frowned and tugged at the sleeves of his plaid shirt, his threadbare jeans and rugged boots so very different from Sam’s camel-coloured cashmere. “And what d’ya mean, I’m not what you expected? What’s Sam been tellin’ you.”

“Everyone’s been telling me I just have to meet you,” Castiel said, trying a smile. “So I didn’t like to speculate, but I thought you’d be more, I don’t know, more like Sam.”

Green eyes darkened. “Well now you’ve met me. I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

“I’m sorry,” he said formally, juggling the shoes as he tried to untangle the knot in his laces. “But as you can see, I’m not one for formal wear, myself. Anyway, I—I should get going. My shift starts in an hour.”

The knot finally undone, he shoved his feet into his shoes.

Dean nodded. “At the ticket-booth, huh? I can give you a lift in my truck if you like. The sidewalk’s an ice rink out there and it’s freezing.”

The last thing he needed was to be trapped in a vehicle with Dean Winchester for an interrogation. Castiel shook his head. “Thank you, but I can easily walk to the station. I’m used to it.” He swung the coat around his shoulders. “I should get going.”

“Not one for formal wear, huh? Think you’ve picked up the wrong coat, that one looks like it belongs to a tax accountant.”

“It was my twin brother’s,” he said, buttoning it, his chest suddenly tight. “The only thing I have. And… he _was_ a tax accountant.”

He dragged on his hat and drew on his gloves, before turning.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean was sitting with his head in his hands.

“ _Shit._ ”

Castiel cracked a reluctant smile, not entirely unhappy to have put Dean on the wrong-foot, if it meant he’d keep his comments and suspicions to himself in future. He pulled the door open and prepared to make his escape.

“Oh, er, Castiel.”

Castiel froze once more, then, slowly he turned to face Dean, the door handle in his hand.

Dean looked up at him, a quiet, slightly bemused smile curving full lips, and Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“Just… er, welcome to the family.”


	10. Chapter 10

After his shift, during which Gabriel was, thankfully, absent, he returned to his apartment to find Balthazar, his landlord, lounging on the tenement stairs outside his door.

“If that v-neck goes any lower, you’ll get frostbite on your nipples,” was Castiel’s snarky greeting, as he climbed the stairs, his injured knee still protesting.

He knew he should probably go get some physical therapy, but he’d had a look at some prices and it was going to cost him well over a hundred bucks ago. He figured he could hang on, see if it got better on its own.

Balthazar grinned and got to his feet.

“Well if it isn’t Castiel!” He leaned in as Castiel reached the landing, leering, his strong aftershave making Castiel’s nose twitch. “So, hey, Doc, I’ve got this burning sensation in my nipples. Would you like to take a look?”

Castiel shook his head and set his bag of Christmas presents on the floor.

“Not tonight Balthazar”—never if he had anything to do with it, but it didn’t do to upset his landlord— “I’ve got to feed Gypsum and get back to the hospital.”

He’d been going to visit Sam every night after work. It was easiest on the nights he only met Charlie, and he was hoping for the same tonight. She didn’t interrogate him, just sat and kept him company after her own shift ended. He was starting to quite like her zany sense of humour and they certainly had some interests in common, the nerdy kind of interests Gabriel would laugh at.

He blew on frozen fingers before fumbling with his front door.

“You do know you’re not an _actual_ doctor, Cassie? You’re taking this role-play stuff too far. Here, let me help you with your bag.”

Balthazar insinuated himself between Castiel and the door.

“Say thank you, Cassie.” He held out the bag and leaned forward, winking lasciviously. His hips were pressed close, though Castiel managed to manoeuvre the bag between them.

“I’m all right, thank you.”

Somehow he got the door open, and bested, Balthazar stepped back with a groan.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Cassie. I have _urges_.”

“I cannot help you,” Castiel finally snapped, and pale eyes blinked in surprise. “Goodnight, Balthazar.”

He slammed the door behind him and then slumped against it.

What a day.

The heating had broken in the ticket-booth, and he and Anna had half-frozen. Luckily he’d had the extra hat and scarf and insisted she borrowed them. Dean Winchester was back, unfairly gorgeous and dangerously suspicious, and, worse of all, it looked like Balthazar was single again.

“He’s okay, really,” he told Gypsum, and she purred around his legs.

Balthazar was always helpful, perhaps a little _too_ helpful at times, and he meant well, he just always assumed that Castiel was as interested in no-strings sex as he was. As far as Balthazar seemed to see it, they were both single—in Castiel’s case a permanent state, and in Balthazar’s weekly—therefore why not?

Gypsum didn’t agree, or perhaps she was just hungry, for she was sniffing around the cardboard box of Sam’s effects that he’d left by the door the previous night.

He didn’t feel comfortable letting himself in to Sam’s flat, but on the other hand, it might look weird if he gave the box to Sam’s family. They’d wonder why he wasn’t going over to water the plants, and fetch clean pyjamas.

“Leave that alone,” he said tiredly and, dropping his bag on the table, he made for the cupboard where he knew he had at least two more tins of Gypsum’s food.

But for once Gypsum didn’t come skipping over to purr against his leg and call for her supper.

“Here you go, sweetheart, it’s tuna tonight.”

He bent over to swap the dishes, noting that the previous night’s had been licked clean.

“I’ve given you a full sachet today, you must be starving after last night.” He hadn’t expected to stay over at Bobby and Ellen’s, but luckily he’d given Gypsum a larger dinner than usual, to make up for his absence in the evening.

Gypsum chirruped at him, and he turned to see her nosing around the box still.

He patted his leg, but she ignored the signal and turned towards him, tilting her head.

“What have you got there?”

Perhaps Sam had had some salmon sandwiches on the day of the attack, and that was what she was finding so interesting. He’d better throw them away before they stank out Sam’s clothes, and the apartment.

With scissors, he sliced through the brown tape holding the lid together, and peered inside while Gypsum stood up on her hindlegs, the better for looking inside.

Sam’s top of the range Iphone lay there, lifeless, and his beautiful coat was folded up at the bottom. There was also a satchel with some papers in, probably work files, and a brown paper bag.

He opened the bag, expecting to find some curled up sandwiches.

“Oh no!”

He stared at the catnip toy and a very familiar package with dismay. Three sachets of Top Cat fish soup. It was Gypsum’s favourite, but he could only afford to buy it for her adoption day dinner.

“I don’t think that’s for you,” he said, as Gypsum sprang into the box, grabbed the brightly coloured toy and rolled over on the coat.

She disagreed, and he found himself with a number of scratches before he managed to get the catnip mouse back. Rinsing his wounds under the tap, he checked his watch. It was seven o’clock and the hospital was halfway between his place and Sam’s flat, the details of which he’d looked up the other night, before deciding it was too intrusive to actually go there, however nosy he was feeling.

This though, he couldn’t ignore.

“I think,” he said, stroking her under the chin as she gazed longingly at the Top Cat sachets. “That somewhere the other side of Chicago, there’s a very hungry cat.”


	11. Chapter 11

Earlier that day…

After a long and necessary nap on Castiel’s recently vacated sofa—well-deserved after spending the previous few nights sleeping folded into the back of the freezing Impala—Dean dropped by the hospital to take a look at Sam.

He was soon taken up to the ward by a pretty and sympathetic nurse called Jess, who seemed both impervious to his own charm, and very much aware of Sam’s.

“Sam got the brains, I got the looks,” he told her, as he held Sam’s hand, calling up his usual cheeky grin.

But she’d been unimpressed.

“I think he got the looks too,” she said with a smile, before hurrying off to fetch the doctor, leaving him to pull up a chair next to Sam’s bed.

“Damnit, Sammy,” he said when they were alone, with only the beeping of monitors for company. “Even unconscious you get the girls, and that nurse is a looker.” He nudged Sam an unresponsive leg. “Maybe your nerdy personality comes over better this way.”

He grinned, but somehow, it wasn’t as much fun taking the piss out of someone who couldn’t reply. Particularly someone who was lying unconscious, his head bandaged and swollen.

Happily, the surgeon who arrived shortly afterwards was optimistic, telling him that Sam showed some brain function, and was responding to painful stimuli. And didn’t that sound fun… Apparently they were going to reduce the sedation once the swelling had gone down, and all being well, Sam would wake up with a banging headache but otherwise intact.

As soon as the surgeon had finished his poking around, humming and checking the oxygen supply, Dean turned to group chat to share the news with the rest of the family. Of course, Ellen immediately started planning a party in Sam’s room that damn evening, sending them all a flurry of messages about defrosting the extra turkey and looking for someone to collect more wine from the liquor store. And when Jo started using the group chat to argue that Ellen should be taking it easy, Dean decided to bow out before he could get dragged into a family row.

He sat by Sam for another hour, fiddling with his phone, after texting Charlie in the hope she would drop in, but she wasn’t replying to his messages.

After a while, he resumed his one-sided chat with Sam.

“You’d love it, Sammy. All sleek. A ’58 silver Corvette. Pretty good condition on the surface but it’ll need a lot of restoration. Rust damage to the chassis, needs new lights too.” He smiled, thumbing through his phone for photos of his new purchase. It was just the sort of car he’d have happily spent his whole life working on, if he hadn’t been needed at the junk yard now Bobby was getting slow.

He sighed suddenly.

“It’s gonna have to be in my free time but I reckon I can make a tidy profit on it. I’ve got my eye on a ’65 Mustang comin’ up for auction in St Louis too. You know I’ve always had my eye on one of those, Sammy. Might even keep it myself if I make enough on the Corvette.”

He sighed again, as Sam lay unresponsive.

“Guess you wouldn’t be that interested even if you were awake. Never did get why I liked to spend so much time up to my elbows in grease. But you got out, makin’ yer own way. I’m still stuck.”

Not that he was ungrateful to Bobby and Ellen for the chances his own father never gave him, but that was a problem too: The guilt. How could he repay people who’d done so much to help him and Sammy, by abandoning them when they needed him the most?

“Got your own man now too.” He glanced over at the bed. “And I gotta tell you, Sammy. That was some shock. Not,” he added, in case Sam could actually hear everything he was saying, “That it’s a problem. Just… not what I expected, I guess.”

“You still here?” A bright voice interrupted his stumbling soliloquy and Jess’ curly head appeared around the door. “I’ve got to see to his hygiene needs now.”

“Oh.” Dean got to his feet, his face flushing. “Jeez. I probably don’t wanna see that.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It has to be done, but I always feel it’s more dignified if we don’t have an audience.”

“Yeah, sure.” He looked round for his leather jacket, pausing to lay an awkward hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll get outta your way. Family’s expecting me, anyway and I gotta meet this Castiel guy properly.”

“Oh yes, you all missed Christmas, didn’t you? Someone phoned to ask if it was okay to bring some food here, something about a celebration that Sam was on the mend.” Jess raised an eyebrow as she checked the monitor. “If you want to get to know Castiel, you should give him a ride over. He injured his knee saving your brother, and he’s still struggling to get around. Probably doesn’t help that he spends so long here every evening, sleeping in that chair.”

“He was injured?” Dean paused on his way to the door.

No one had told him that.

“Jumping on the tracks, would you believe? He’s a brave guy, Sam’s lucky he was there.” She gave Dean a quick once-over. “Look, I don’t want to stick my nose where it’s not wanted, but you seem like a down to earth guy, and it might not even occur to your family…”

She trailed off uncertainly, and Dean stared at her.

“What you tryin’ to say?”

Jess shrugged and picked up Sam’s chart. “I might be breaking patient confidentiality here, but, well, your family seem pretty well off, and you, well…” Her quick glance at his battered jeans and tatty plaid said it all. “It’s just, when Sam was brought in, Castiel came too, but he was very anxious about the treatment costs. We did the basics, but he needs physical therapy really. It seems a shame that he’s hurt himself saving Sam and I just thought…well, maybe you could check whether he’s ok for money.” She lowered her voice. “He told me he couldn’t afford the deductible.”

Dean frowned, all his instincts bristling.

“He put you up to this?”

Her eyes widened. “No! Goodness, no, I don’t think he’s that kind of guy. I’ve actually seen him trying to hide his injury, probably because he knows your family would try to help him, and from what I’ve seen, he’s pretty proud.”

“But you think he’ll accept help from some guy he only met this morning?”

Jess shrugged again. “You’re a pretty boy, I’m sure you can charm him into it.” She turned her attention back to Sam and peeled back the corner of the sheet. “And now you’d better go, because I’m pretty sure neither you nor Sam want you to see what happens next.”

Cringing, Dean made straight for the lift, still pulling on his jacket. He glanced at his watch. It was still early. If he went to Bobby’s now, he’d have to submit to Ellen and Jo’s interrogation on his—non-existent—love-life, and if Bobby was home they’d probably end up having yet another discussion about expanding the rescue and retrieval side of the business into suburbs like Evanston or Clarendon Hills. Bobby wanted him to have something that he, alone, was responsible for, as preparation for taking over when Bobby himself retired; but the last thing Dean wanted was to deal with yet more junk… that didn’t fit into his plans at all.

Hoping that no suitable garage sites had become available in the few days he’d been away, he hurried down to the parking lot, and checked, as always, that Baby was unharmed. Making a mental note to himself to clean her properly the next day and wash all the road salt from her undercarriage, he pulled out his phone and demanded Castiel’s address from Ellen.

Within a few minutes he was driving south from Northwestern, heading past his own area of Logan Square, towards Pilsen, where Castiel apparently had an apartment. The traffic was surprisingly light, probably due to the number of people still on vacation as they recovered from three days of turkey sandwiches and eggnog. Looking at the tightly-packed housing, he wondered where exactly his satnav was going to take him. Pilsen was up and coming, but some areas were still pretty rough, though the LGBT scene was cool, according to Charlie anyway. Dean rarely had time to go out, and he’d always been more of a real ale in a bar than a nightclub kind of guy, anyway.

The satnav chose that moment to announce his near arrival, and he slowed down, keeping an eye out for a decent-sized space for Baby. It wasn’t that he couldn’t park in anything smaller, he just didn’t want to risk the bumps and scrapes from other, less careful, drivers.

“Let’s see where you live, eh, mystery man,” he muttered to himself, spotting a sizeable gap between a truck and a Prius. The area was definitely on the up if the Prius invasion had made it out here.

He made sure all the doors were securely locked, and then stood on the sidewalk to take stock.

Castiel clearly lived in one of the rougher parts of Pilsen. The red brick apartment blocks were old, but unlike those further east, they hadn’t been upgraded yet; the windows were falling apart, and going by the number of nameplates on Castiel’s building, the apartments were densely packed inside too.

Dean shook his head as he pressed the buzzer—risking almost certain electrocution—and waited, unable to help comparing this down-at-heel block with Sam’s sleek tower, wide ranging views over the Chicago River and all.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a sandy-coloured head popped out, belonging to a slim man in a v-neck shirt that practically exposed his nipples, who _lounged_ out of the door and leaned against the doorjamb, looking him over with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Who you looking for?” The man had a strange accent, like a Brit who’d been in the US too long, and his tone was sultry.

Shifting uncomfortably, Dean glanced down at the text Jo had sent him.

“Mr Castiel Novak? I think he’s supposed to live in apartment 6?”

The sandy-hair guy nodded.

“And what does a handsome fellow like you want with _Mr_ Castiel Novak?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Is that any of your business?”

The sandy-haired lounge lizard grinned, a feral grin, all pointed teeth. He held out a hand.

“Balthazar Freely, antiques dealer and property portfolio developer.”

“Uh… okay.” A little awkwardly, Dean shook his hand. “You a friend of Castiel’s?”

Balthazar shrugged and winked.

“Oh you know, landlord… and a little bit more.”

Dean straightened.

“A little bit more?” Was this guy actually claiming he had a thing going with Castiel? Castiel who, however oddly, was engaged to _Sam_?

“Oh yeah.” Balthazar—and what kind of name was that, anyway?—arrayed himself against the shabby brickwork. “Cassie and I go way back. But I don’t mind sharing, as long as I get _both_ of you.” He leered, a long slow look that covered Dean from head, to the tip of his work boots. “And I do like a man who works with his hands…”

His face flushing, Dean forced down his horror.

“Jesus, look man, I just need to speak to Castiel.”

“Sorry. He’s at work.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned that _before_ propositioning me?” Dean spluttered. “When’s he get home?”

“Depends on his shift.” Balthazar glanced down at his phone, apparently losing interest in the conversation now Dean had shown no interest in his dubious charms. “Sometimes he’s home for dinner, sometimes he isn’t.” He shrugged.

“Right, well.” Dean turned on his heel, shaking his head. “I’d better be going.”

“Who shall I say called?”

“Um…” He paused and turned back, considering. He didn’t want Castiel to know he was on to him just yet. He needed to do a bit more digging first, because Ellen and Bobby seemed utterly besotted with the guy. “Tell him, nah.” He shook his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“All right.” Balthazar lifted a lazy eyebrow and lounged back through the door, his overly tight leather trousers giving Dean an eyeful on his retreat.

Left alone on the street, Dean rubbed his hand through his hair as he weighed up his options. That pretty nurse had said Castiel liked to hang out at the hospital after work. He checked his phone and came to a decision: Head home to Logan Square, have a nap, and then aim to be at the hospital early that evening.

As he unblocked Baby, he shook his head.

He’d _known_ there was something fishy about the whole situation. The only question now was, did Sam know his fiance was fucking some smarmy Brit, or were his first instincts correct, and this Castiel was a manipulative fucker, out for what he could get?


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel stopped by at the hospital on his way through town, just to check on Sam before heading over to his apartment, which, going by Google streetview was a glistening glass and metal tower down by the river.

He knew Charlie wasn’t working that evening, and Jo had mentioned the previous night that the rest of the family would spend the day with Dean, who hadn’t yet opened his presents, or eaten the second Turkey.

Ellen had claimed she was saving _two_ pies for him, but he’d obviously misheard.

Jessica, the nice nurse, found him wavering him by the elevators and ushered him towards Sam’s room, all the while giving him an update.

“No change then?” he asked. “He seems to have been in this coma for an awfully long time. Is that—is that a bad sign?”

“We’re keeping him sedated just now anyway, it’s better for his brain recovery,” she said reassuringly. “The surgeon is hoping that we can reduce the sedation next week, to see if he wakes up.”

Castiel frowned as they paused to let a gurney go past.

“And if he doesn’t?”

Her blue gaze softened. “The last MRI scan showed that the swelling had gone down, and he is definitely reacting to stimulus. You’ve every reason to hope, Castiel.”

They had arrived at the door to Sam’s private room and she pushed it open, with a cheery smile.

“Here’s your favourite visitor to see you, handsome!”

Castiel froze.

The room was packed full of people, in fact it looked like the previous night’s celebrations had continued, merely shifting location.

“Castiel!” Ellen beamed up at him. “Come on in! We’re celebrating our third Christmas, with Sam _and_ Dean this time. He got back late last night, and as Sam’s doing well, we decided to bring the festivities over here.”

“I thought I was Sam’s favourite visitor,” Dean grumbled from the seat beside Sam, where he’d been hidden amidst the crowd of well-wishers.

Jess stepped over to the bed and checked Sam’s vital signs, before noting something in the chart at the bottom of the bed.

“Keep talking to him,” she urged them, brushing long floppy hair off Sam’s brow. “He may well be able to hear you.”

The crowd cleared, Bobby even putting his car magazine down to ask questions, which Jess answered reassuringly as she bustled about Sam’s bed.

Castiel turned from where Pamela was chatting away to Sam. His gaze met Dean’s, so green, so very hard.

He shivered.

“This is Dean,” announced Jo, her gaze darting between them expectantly, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

It appeared that Dean had not mentioned their early-morning meeting.

“We met this morning,” Castiel said slowly, as he stepped closer.

“Are you staying long?” Ellen asked. “Dean give your seat to Castiel, he’ll have been working all day, whilst you’ve been napping and eating your own weight in pie.”

Castiel waved him down.

“Don’t worry. I was just popping in on my way to Sam’s, I need to feed the cat.”

The entire family turned to stare.

“The cat?”

“Sam doesn’t have a cat!”

“Sam _hates_ cats,”came Dean’s gruff voice.

_Oh hell._

But then, Castiel wondered as he looked round at them, trying to force down the panic that was making his breath come quickly, what was the cat food for? There was only one obvious answer here—unless Sam volunteered at the Cat’s Home, and somehow he didn’t seem the type—so he doubled down. A family who didn’t know about the first, the _real_ fiancee, might not necessarily be aware of any feline companions either.

“Well if it’s not a cat, I’d like to know what I’ve been feeding.” He met Dean’s gaze and smiled more confidently than he felt. “A very large and hungry mouse, perhaps?”

“I didn’t know Sam had a cat.” Although Pamela couldn’t actually see him, her gaze was strangely assessing.

“He doesn’t. He’s got allergies.”

“Aunt Agatha used to take antihistamines for _her_ allergies.”

“She was allergic to horses,” said Ellen. “And stick insects.”

“You can’t be allergic to stick instincts,” said Jo. “She just didn’t like them.“ She turned to Castiel. “Uncle Brian kept hundreds of them, and they kept escaping and turning up in the tea-pot.”

“She should have drunk coffee,” said Bobby, and Jess, still bending over Sam, snorted.

“How do we even know this guy is Sam’s fiance anyway?” burst in Dean, frowning, just as Castiel started to hope the train of conversation had been derailed completely. “Something’s off. Too many things don’t add up.”

The room fell silent.

Flushing, Castiel raised his head, his eyes darting from Bobby, to Jo, to Dean. Bobby looked embarrassed, and Jo looked a little smug.

“Oh Dean, of course he’s Sam’s fiance! Why would someone lie about that?” Ellen shook her head.

“Sam’s on 500k a year, might be any number of people who’d want to lay claim to him.” Dean shot him a challenging look. “If he died, they might be hoping for some money. Insurance or somethin’.”

“Dean!”

“That’s enough, you eejit. What d’yer think Sam’s gonna say when he wakes up and hears you’ve been crossing words with his fiance?” Bobby put a word in.

“If Castiel needed to, I’m sure he could prove it.” Jo raised a sly eyebrow.

“Don’t be silly, Joanna-Beth. Castiel saved his life, there were witnesses. And he’s been coming here every day.”

“And yet I’ve never heard Sam mention his name before. No,” said Dean. “Somethin’s not right. And if he’s really Sam’s finance, he won’t mind proving it.”

“I’m sure Castiel can prove it, though I really don’t think he should have to.” Rolling his eyes, Bobby got to his feet and, with a decisive grunt, pulled his cap further over his forehead.

Jo folded her arms and eyed Castiel unsmilingly. Castiel glanced quickly at Ellen, but even she seemed to be wavering, as she fumbled with her hanky.

Dean, on the other hand, looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’m sure if Castiel needed to, he could tell me somethin’ only someone who knew Sam _ver_ y well would know,” he challenged.

Castiel swallowed. Aside from the—still putative—cat, he knew very little about Sam. Where he worked, certainly, a little about his education, but they’d all know he could find that out easily enough on-line. What did he know that only someone who had been, well, _intimate_ with Sam, would know?

He glanced at Dean. With a knowing smile, he looked Castiel up and down.

Castiel started to sweat. He rubbed his neck, his eyes still on Dean. What on earth could he…

Suddenly, the answer came to him.

Of course.

That smarmy lawyer.

“Sam has a tattoo,” he said quickly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

There was a flash of recognition, quickly stifled. He needed to give more than that.

“Oh yeah?”

“Sam doesn’t have a tattoo! He thinks they’re crass.” Jo looked offended on Sam’s behalf, which was almost amusing because Castiel was sure she probably had a few tattoos under her ripped jeans and band t-shirt.

“He always said he’d have to be drunk to get one,” said Ellen, with a frown.

“And he was,” said Castiel. “Very very drunk. On the night he graduated.”

There was suddenly something uncertain in the green eyes fixed upon him.

“Lot’s of people probably know that,” Dean scoffed. “Tell me what it looks like.”

“Kind of strange,” Castiel played for time. “An anti-possession tattoo. Some sort of pentagonal shape, I’m not sure what shape is is technically.” He’d looked up anti-possession marks on google on his way home from the hospital, the day he’d met Crowley. He wasn’t exactly sure what Sam’s looked like, but he had nothing to lose by making a guess at that point. “He’s a little embarrassed by it.”

“Where is it?”

“Oh come on, Dean! Hasn’t he told you enough?” Bobby slapped the car magazine against his thigh.

“Where is it?” Ignoring Bobby, Dean held his gaze.

Castiel glanced apologetically at Ellen.

“…his, er, buttock” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, you did ask.”

Jo was sniggering into her hand. “I am so taking the piss when he wakes up. He must have been _wrecked_.”

But Dean still wasn’t satisfied.

“Which butt-cheek?”

“Dean!” It came from all corners of the room.

“Dean, that is information even I don’t want to know! I’m near enough that boy’s mother.”

Castiel could feel himself turning even redder. Of course, he didn’t know _which_ buttcheek, but—he bit his lip—he had an answer that might suffice. If he was brave enough to try.

He glanced at Ellen again, beseechingly this time and then went for it. He held out both hands, cupped towards himself as though pulling Sam towards him.

“Wait a moment, let me think. Obviously when he’s like… _this_ it’s on this side.” He waggled his right arm. “But when we’re the other way round…” He cupped his hands the other way, curving unmistakably around an invisible hip and glanced up. “It’s on the other. I think. I don’t know, in the heat of the moment you know…” He shrugged.

Jo looked like she was going to gag.

Ellen was bright red and flapping at herself with Bobby’s car magazine.

Bobby looked like he wanted to claw his own eyes out.

And Dean looked… Dean looked angry, his brows drawn down in a frown, his jaw rigid. Perhaps he wasn’t as okay with all this as the others had led him to believe.

He ground out two words.

“Check it.”

Castiel shrugged. It was fifty-fifty, and he could probably make a case for confusion if he had to. It would of course be far better to tell them the truth. Better, but not easier.

“I’m not… Dean you’re not seriously asking me to check that poor boy’s buttock? That’s practically assault!” Ellen stepped away from the bed, as though fearing someone might force her to pull back the covers.

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Jo shook her head.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Bobby took off his cap. “ _I’ll_ do it.”

Grumbling he stepped closer to the bed, then pulled back the covers, shielding Sam from the room, or perhaps the room from Sam’s bare buttock, with his body.

“Not on the left.”

Castiel grinned, just managing to refrain from a whoop of victory as Bobby shuffled round to the other side of the bed.

“Yep. This side’s got one. Ah Christ. What was he thinking?” Bobby looked up, trauma writ across his grizzled face. “Dean, you _let_ him do this? You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

Biting his lip, Castiel glanced back at Dean, who was shuffling his feet.

“I’m sure Dean always sets a good example,” he said, meeting Dean’s gaze with a challenge, and Dean flushed.

But Dean was not beaten yet, as he set his jaw, and raised an eyebrow.

“So, about that cat.”


	13. Chapter 13

“So what kinda cat _is_ this?” Dean asked, leading the way through the murky underground parking lot, after offering to give Castiel a lift to Sam’s place.

Castiel suspected Dean had only offered so he could interrogate him further. He clearly hadn’t bought Castiel’s, or rather, Charlie’s, story and Castiel was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to keep it up.

“It’s a… a cat?” Castiel hazarded, playing it safe. “I don’t really know what kind. It’s a bit stand-offish though,” he added, thinking to prepare the way, because the poor cat would probably hightail it out of there at the sight of two strangers. “It’s not very friendly.”

“What’s it called?”

Castiel turned from Dean’s suspicious gaze to look around the parking lot, desperate for a diversion.

“Er, we just call it ‘Fluffy’.”

“Original.” With a smirk, Dean strode across the concrete, towards a Prius and a sleek black muscle car Castiel thought looked like a classic Chevy. Going by what he’d heard at Bobby’s the previous night, he knew Dean was unlikely to be the owner of the Prius.

“It’s in beautiful condition!” Castiel exclaimed, admiring its glossy black paintwork from afar.

“Sam told you about it, huh?” Dean tossed the car keys in his hand, clearly proud of his car. “This is Baby.”

“Hello, Baby,” Castiel said, gravely, walking around to inspect the hood. A quick glance at Dean showed it was the right approach to take, and in any case, he was genuinely impressed.

“Yeah.” Dean stepped back alongside him to join in the admiration. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I restored her myself from a wreck.”

“That’s very impressive.” Castiel leaned forward to peer inside. “From a wreck? It looks like it just came off the production line, what, back in the late 60s?”

Dean tilted his head. “Close. 1967.”

“Sam didn’t tell me that part,” Castiel replied, quite truthfully, and neglecting to mention Sam hadn’t told him _any_ part, as Dean unlocked the passenger side and ushered him in.

Dean slid in at the other side.

“I haven’t been to Sam’s from this part of town before.” He raised an eyebrow. “You good to give me directions?”

Castiel bit his lip. He should have been expecting that, but there was no help for it and so he tugged his cracked and ageing smartphone from his pocket.

Dean raised a second eyebrow. “You need a _satnav_ to find your fiancé’s place?”

Castiel shrugged, hoping his burning cheeks were hidden in the gloom of the lot. “I usually go by public transport, and Sam always takes the transit too, because it’s better for the environment—so I’ve never been in a car before.”

He knew Sam took environmental law cases, so that seemed like a good bet.

“Guess so,” Dean grunted, sliding an arm along the back of Castiel’s seat, and turning to reverse out of the space.

Relieved, Castiel stretched out his leg, stifling a curse as the pain shot through his knee. He reached down to massage the joint.

“You got a bad leg?”

“Nothing serious.” Castiel withdrew his hand. “Just a bit of a twinge. Probably old age.”

Dean was looking at him, his brows drawn together in a deep frown.

“I like your car,” Castiel said, wondering what he’d said that was so wrong. He inspected the interior with genuine admiration, sighing as he fingered the soft leather of the bench seat. “Is it an Impala?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, shooting him a quick look as they waited for the barrier to lift. “You know your cars?”

Castiel’s throat constricted, as it always did. “My father always dreamed of taking a road trip. We couldn’t afford a car, but he used to read old car magazines and plan a trip.” He smiled despite himself. “We used to get out the big road map and plan our route, imagining all the places we’d go. He’d even plan out the fuel stops.”

Long cozy evenings by the single bar electric fire, travelling, if only in their minds, as they listed all the towns they would visit.

They never did get to go.

“There’d need to be a lot of fuel stops. Baby just guzzles oil.” Dean signalled and pulled out into the street. “What do you mean, imagining? Did you never actually go?” He winced. “Oh shit, sorry. Ellen told me your dad died a few years ago.”

Castiel offered him a small smile, used to comforting other people for the death of his own father. “It’s okay. No… It’s, I mean, it probably sounds a little strange, but we never went, though I think my dad always hoped we would one day. It was just something we did for fun, to keep us entertained through the winter.” He shrugged, a little self-conscious from the considering look Dean was giving him. “I told you it was odd.”

“Nah, I get it. Everyone has dreams.”

“Did you… was this _your_ dream, to restore this car?”

Dean shrugged, his strong fingers flexing around the steering wheel, his forearms thick and strong under his plaid shirt. Suddenly flustered, Castiel fixed his eyes on his phone screen.

“It was, but now my dream’s gotten bigger.”

“Bigger than this?” His phone forgotten, Castiel cast an impressed glance up and down the interior.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean indicated left and waited for a gap in the traffic. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Not gonna happen though.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, anxious to get his bearings whilst Dean was distracted. It wouldn’t do to appear totally lost when they got to Sam’s place.

Dean glanced over at him. “You don’t wanna hear this, it’s just family crap, not important.”

“It’s important if it’s stopping you from going after your dream.” Intrigued now, Castiel leaned forward. “Is it to do with cars?” He took Dean’s distracted grunt as an affirmative. “What you’ve done with this one is incredible. You could make a career out of it.”

“Seriously?” His cheeks flushed, Dean was eyeing him incredulously, before pulling across the traffic. “How d’ya just figure that out?”

“Here we are.” Castiel pointed at Sam’s block, thankful he’d taken time to look it up on street-view the previous day.

The glance Dean spared him, as he turned into the underground parking lot, was wondering.

“You got a key?”

“I’ve got one.” Fingering Sam’s key in his pocket, Castiel waited for Dean to pull into a space and park. “You’ve been before, I take it.”

Dean turned off the ignition and the throat roar of the engine cut out. He shuffled in his seat, looking a little awkward.

“Haven’t actually been inside,” he admitted, after a moment. “He was living over on Goose Island before, you know, only moved in September. And he’s been really busy with work… and you, I guess.”

Castiel stared at him. Perhaps the brothers weren’t as close as he’d assumed. Four months seemed an awfully long time not to visit your own brother when you lived in the same city.

All of a sudden, he could see another reason for Dean’s instant dislike of him.

“I would never want to take Sam away from you, Dean,” he said, his eyes on the dashboard in front. “I hope you know that.”

Dean shrugged, his leather jacked bunching up around his broad shoulders. “Nah, I mean, he’s been busy, I know that, hot shot lawyer an’ all. I guess, and I can certainly see why he’d be spending more time with you…” He trailed off, looking horrified. He rubbed his jaw. “God, not that. I mean, Ruby, you know, she was a complete bitch. She was changing him, always going to fine restaurants, and designer clothes, and shit like that, you know. And okay, so Sam’s more a salad bar kinda guy, so burger joints were never his thing, but she just liked to spend money, and to be seen to spend money, and Sam never used to be that…” He paused, his forehead screwed up as he searched visibly for the right word.

“Materialistic?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Dean nodded. “Sam and me, we weren’t raised like that. You see Bobby and Ellen now, and sure, they’re pretty well off, with the garage business, but when our dad died, it was just a jumped up scrap yard. We didn’t always eat properly, and that was with Ellen looking after us and doing her best. Before that, with our dad… well he _may_ have been doin’ his best.” He shrugged again, his face suddenly flushing and turned towards the door.

“That sounds more like my upbringing,” Castiel said softly, as Dean edged his door open with due regard for the paintwork. “My dad loved me, but he was a dreamer. He couldn’t hold down a job—he wanted to create things, but that doesn’t pay well.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, long enough for Castiel to regret his candour. Then Dean shook his head and squeezed himself through the narrow gap between the Impala and a shiny new Tesla that Dean seemed to regard with something like pity.

“Come on, we’d better feed that kitty.”

“Fluffy,” Castiel corrected as he wriggled out, doing his best not to strain his knee. He hoped it didn’t have a name tag, but it was unlikely, wasn’t it? A cat in a69th floor apartment was hardly likely to go out for a daily stroll.

God, Castiel felt nauseous just thinking about it.

“Yeah. You choose that name?” Dean slammed his door shut, and then locked both doors with a key, the old fashioned way.

“It seemed appropriate.”

They made their way to the elevator, a glossy stainless steel number, with obvious security cameras and plenty of mirrors. Luckily Castiel had already spotted the floor number on Sam’s keyring. It looked like an expensive present, engraved with the floor number, though not, for security’s sake, the name or building. Well it was for that, or Sam just really liked the number sixty-nine…

“It’s not going anywhere,” he remarked after pressing uselessly at the button.

Dean leaned forward and inspected the electronics box. “You gotta insert the key card. It’s a security measure.” He squinted at Castiel. “You forget that?”

Cursing himself, Castiel shrugged.

“I take public transport, remember. I usually come in through the main entrance.”

He really was getting better at thinking on his feet and lying.

And he should probably be more concerned about that than he actually was.

“Oh yeah, I guess so.” Dean seemed satisfied, temporarily at least, and remained silent, staring down at his rugged boots, until they reached the 69th floor.

“This is us,” Castiel announced, redundantly, as the elevator door chimed their arrival. He stepped forward confidently, his eyes having already spotted the correct door. All four doors looked the same, but only one had a silver plate matching the key fob in his hand.

Raising his eyebrows at the door, Dean followed.

“Well aint this fancy.”

Somehow, Castiel didn’t think it was a compliment. He spoke rapidly as he tested the key in the lock, thankfully opening it on the first attempt.

“The flats allow for a high degree of customisation.” That’s what the brochure online had said. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” He stepped forward, feeling with his hand for the light switch. The room was dark and smelled fusty and unused. Wouldn’t Sam have a cleaner?

“Mrrrp.” There was a cheep and a high miaow below him and something wound its way around his trouser leg.

“Dammit.”

Where was that bloody light switch?

Dean’s voice came from just over his shoulder, his breath setting goosebumps down Castiel’s neck. “Don’t you have to wave your hand or something? Sam was telling me this place has everything automatic. Just have to wave the right way and the lights come on.”

Castiel stifled a sigh. There was no way he was going to pull this off if Sam’s flat had to _recognise_ him.

“Here Fluffy,” he called, waving his hands in the dark, hoping that something, anything, would switch on and provide light. “Here puss,” he cooed, in the high tone his sometimes used—strictly in private—with his own cat. “Fluffy’s din-din’s here at last.”

Behind him, Dean snorted.

God, why weren’t the lights coming on?

Suddenly, there was a click and a whir from the other side of the room, and the room filled with late afternoon sunlight. He glanced down—and bit back a curse.

Winding its way round his ankles was quite possibly the ugliest cat he’d ever laid eyes on.

The ugliest _hairless_ cat he’d every laid eyes on.

Dean was staring, jaw dropped, at the skeletal apparition, and as Castiel watched nervously, he blinked slowly, before meeting Castiel’s horrified gaze.

“Fluffy, huh?”


	14. Chapter 14

Still eyeing the cat with dismay Cas crossed his arms and determined to style it out.

“It’s ironic.”

“It’s fucking ugly.”

Indeed it was. Castiel barely suppressed a shudder. What on earth had possessed _anyone_ to get a cat without hair? Wasn’t the whole point to have something to stroke, something soft? Something like a living teddy bear that would occasionally scratch your eyes out and vomit on the bedroom rug.

“Beauty isn’t always skin deep.”

“Well,” Dean said dubiously, with one last, lingering look of horror at the skeletal hellcat rubbing itself against Castiel’s shin. “Come along then, Alanis Morisette, show me Sam’s pad.”

“You go ahead,” Castiel told him, figuring it would be easier to find bowls and utensils without Dean wondering why he had to open every damn cupboard in the sleekly designed and no doubt stupidly expensive kitchen.

Dean wandered off into the living room, and left alone, Castiel gazed down at the cat.

“I suppose you’re hungry?”

The creature—he wasn’t sure he could ever accept it as a _cat_ —stared back.

Jesus Christ, there was something horribly wrong with it. It looked, at best, like a cat crossed with a domestic pig. Or like someone had inflated, then shrunk and subsequently skinned a mouse. Its skin wrinkled around its neck and ribs, a strange mixture of pink and grey flesh. The ears. Well dear God, the ears.

Castiel shivered.

The cat stared back, its blue eyes icily pale, following Castiel as he investigated the cupboards. Eventually, after a lot of shelves full of crystal tumblers and fine champagne glasses, he found a cupboard that contained a terracotta dish that looked vaguely cat-appropriate. A search of the drawers below elicited more fancy bottle openers than any man could reasonably need, and a fork.

“This your favourite?” he asked the cat, feeling he should probably make polite conversation.

The cat seemed to agree, mewling and winding itself around its legs and attempting to trip him over as he carried the bowl of diced tuna fillet over to the tray that lay out of sight behind the door. He crouched down as the cat started wolfing down the food.

“I suppose anything would taste good. You must be starving.”

The water bowl was scummy round the sides, and nearly empty, so he washed and replaced that next, before heading out in search of the litter tray. Thankfully he easily spotted it on the balcony, and had soon dealt with that situation.

“Is everything okay?” he ventured, looking around at last. Dean had been missing for some minutes. “Dean?”

“In here,” was the reply, and he followed the direction of Dean’s voice through the living room, and into the bathroom, a sleek chrome and grey stone affair, with an inset tub. Dean was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, frowning darkly.

“Fluffy’s all fed. I’ll come back tomorrow with more food.”

Squinting, Dean turned slowly to face him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Dean?” Castiel stepped forward. “What’s wrong?”

“I was…” Dean ’s eyes were hard. “I was lookin’ for Sam’s stuff, figured he’d be needing a shave when he wakes up.”

“He likes to be clean-shaved,” Castiel concurred. He’d never seen Sam with a beard, or even light stubble.

“You need anything from here? There’s only one toothbrush…”

Castiel shook his head. “I’ve still got most of my stuff at home.”

“You do stay here, though,” Dean asked, his gaze returning to the open cupboard.

“I haven’t moved in yet.”

“These aren’t yours, then?” Dean opened the cupboard door wide, and stepped back.

Wondering, Castiel stepped forward. Inside the cupboard, alongside some very expensive aftershave and hair products, were a box of tampons, and a double pregnancy test, opened.

“Ah,” said Castiel, his mind racing. This was getting worse by the moment. What if Ruby was pregnant? Oh Jesus, this was such a mess.

“Wanna tell me what Sam’s doing with these?”

Swallowing, Castiel nodded, as he sized Dean up from the corner of his eye. They were all alone, no one to help. He didn’t _think_ Dean would get violent, but he’d seen enough, experienced enough, at his grandparents, that he wasn’t going to risk it.

“That’s a… that’s a good question. And I can’t tell you about the pregnancy test,” he said, trying a small smile. “I hadn’t noticed it. But Sam always kept the tampons in for female guests who got caught short. He’s very considerate like that.”

“Considerate, huh?” Dean’s frown deepened, and Castiel waited, anxiously, his breath caught high in his chest. “That explain why there’s none of your clothes in the closet, just some old girls’ jeans and tops? Why there’s a cupboard full of Feminax, which I know from Charlie is for _periods_? Why there’s lipstick in the nightstand? Don’t tell me it’s Sam’s. However girly he is about his hair, he don’t wear _lipstick_.”

“Well. I’ll admit it’s been a while since my last period,” Castiel joked, weakly. Then, when Dean didn’t respond, he held out his arms, his dad’s old coat threadbare at the elbows, creased and a little tattered at the cuffs. “Look at me, Dean, look at my clothes. Do I _look_ like I fit in here, in a place like this? I haven’t moved in for a reason—”

The high-pitched bleeping of the house phone interrupted them.

“I’ll go,” Castiel said, pivoting, and still not entirely sure whether he’d been about to out himself, or make up another ridiculous lie.

But Dean shoved past him before he could reach the bathroom door. “I don’t think so. _I’ll_ get it.”

Castiel slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily, his legs suddenly bloodless. He would have to talk to Charlie. This was getting ridiculous. They couldn’t keep this deception going, someone was going to get hurt. As Dean’s voice filtered in from the living room, he pulled out his phone and typed a rapid message.

_Charlie, I can’t keep this up. We HAVE to talk. C._

That done, he scrolled quickly through his incoming messages, one very cryptic message from Balthazar, and another from Mrs Mancini in the ground floor apartment. Apparently Gypsum had been stealing her washing again. He shook his head in despair. Gypsum’s last raid had cost him the remainder of his pay, and now he’d probably have nothing left to get him through to the new year.

 _“_ Castiel?” Dean poked his head around the bathroom door, and Castiel quickly stowed his phone in his pocket.

“Who was it for?”

“You!” Dean said, his green eyes puzzled. “That was the hospital. They want you to give blood if you can. It’s standard practice for all relatives, apparently. We can, um, head there now, if you’ve finished here?”

Castiel stood upright, but the blood rushed to his head, making him suddenly dizzy. He slumped back against the cold porcelain of the sink, perspiration drenching his brow.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean stepped forward, alarm on his face. “You’ve gone kinda pale.”

“Just… feeling a little faint,” Castiel managed to whisper, as Dean helped him towards the loo, and pushed him down on the closed seat.

“Here, stick your head on your knees. You funny about blood or something?”

“No.” He laughed a little. “I saw a lot with my Dad, you know. No, I think I’m just hungry, I forgot to have dinner before coming out.”

“Ya think?” Dean asked, his tone laced with scepticism. “You don’t forget to eat, man.”

“I wasn’t feeling like it.” That was genuine, anyway. Possibly the only thing all night that was.

Dean filled a tooth mug with water, and brought it over to him. “Here, take this. When did you last have something?”

Taking a sip, with a shaky hand, Castiel cast his mind back, and came up with nothing.

“Breakfast?” he guessed. “I think.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean stepped back. “Right, well, let’s head over to the blood department, or whatever they call it, and we can grab something to eat nearby. I doubt they’ll let you donate, looking like that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel protested, thinking of his empty pocket-book. “I’ll eat when I get home.”

“Yeah. Not gonna happen,” Dean said, helping him up, with a hand to his elbow. “My treat.”

Nodding weakly, Castiel could do nothing except agree.


	15. Chapter 15

After parking “Baby” in what Dean deemed, finally, to be an appropriate slot, they walked the short distance to the diner opposite the blood department, at the back of the hospital.

“I came here with Bobby the other day,” Dean said, settling him in a booth. “I’ve had better, but I don’t think we’ll get food poisoning.”

“They should put that on their flyers,” Castiel suggested, winning a flash of green eyes and a grin that made him sit up just a little bit straighter.

“You er, good to have a cheese burger? We’d better make this quick; the lady from the clinic said they close at ten.”

“I can’t believe they’re even open that late.”

“Bit of a shortage, she said. Apparently it’s common around Christmas. People got better things to do than donate, I guess. Here you go,” Dean added, as a smiling waitress brought over the menus. “I’m gonna get a beer, same for you?”

Castiel tilted his head, considering. “Beer won’t mix well with some meds I’m on. Maybe a soda?”

“Oh, sure.” Dean turned a charming grin on the waitress. “A bit of sugar’ll help. Couple of cheeseburgers, please, er, Jen. Quick as you can, we gotta go save lives.”

‘Jen’ winked at him. “Be right back, Doc.”

“She thinks you’re a doctor!” Castiel protested, scandalised, as she bustled away and returned immediately with a coke and beer.

“Yeah?” Dean shrugged easily and clinked their bottles together. “We’re saving lives! I didn’t lie.”

“No, but—”

 _No, but I did_ , is what he _wants_ to say, as shame burns through him.

The sugar hits his brain though, and what he actually says, is—

“Wait a minute! Can I even give blood? I wasn’t allowed, before, with my dad…”

That had been an embarrassing conversation.

Dean frowned. “What ya mean? Why not? _Oh_! The gay thing?” He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought of that. Ah crap.”

“All this for nothing.” Castiel sighed. “I’d really hoped I’d be able to do something for Sam. But I completely forgot, I don’t think my brain even switched on until I had that coke.”

“Here you go, boys. Two cheeseburgers.”

The burgers had arrived, and ravenous, they tucked in. Castiel knew he was eating too quickly, and he would probably get indigestion, but he was too hungry to take it slowly.

After a minute or two, Dean returned to the conversation.

“They knew you were Sam’s fiance, though, on the phone. So they must have known you were a guy.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe the rules have changed? Actually, now I come to think of it, I think Charlie was going on about some legal appeal. And the woman on the phone said there’s a questionnaire and everything, so we’ll fill ‘em in when we get there, check it’s all okay.”

“We?”

“You think I’m gonna pass up a chance to help Sam?” Dean scrubbed his brow. “Man, I feel pretty guilty I wasn’t there when it happened. Guess I’m glad _you_ were.”

“No one could have stopped it,” Castiel said gently, putting his burger down. “It all happened too quickly. And once he was at the hospital, Ellen and Bobby were all there. Sam was well looked after. There was nothing you could have done, so there’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I guess.” Dean chewed on thoughtfully. “I dunno what Sam’s told you, ‘bout us growing up. But, for the years before Bobby and Ellen took us in, I was basically his parent. I’ve been pickin’ him up and cleaning up his scraped knees since he was a tot. Kissed his booboos an’ everything.”

“He was lucky to have you.”

“ _I_ was lucky to have him. Without a kid to look after, I might have gone off the rails myself. Kids keep you stable though,” Dean pressed on, leaning forward. “You gotta do the best you can for them, even if it’s not much.”

“No plans to have your own though?” Castiel asked, more impressed than he could let on—without Dean realising how little he really knew about Sam’s life. Then he paused. “Sorry, that was a personal question.”

Flushing, Dean waved his apology away. “It’s all right. Nah. I guess I just never met the right person.” He crammed the rest of the burger into his mouth and then jumped abruptly to his feet. “So, we going?”

Castiel stared up at him. “You’re really coming?”

“Told you I was.”

Despite Castiel’s half-hearted protests, Dean insisted on paying the check. Thoughtfully, Castiel followed him out onto the icy pavement, and along the block to the blood donation clinic. Dean couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Sam, but he’d taken care of him, for years apparently, and hadn’t abandoned his responsibilities when Ellen and Bobby came on the scene.

And now it looked like Sam was growing away from him, with his high-flying career, and fancy , possibly-pregnant, girlfriend, wherever _she_ was. There might not have been many of Castiel’s belongings in Sam’s apartment, but this Ruby didn’t seem to have left much of a mark either. Where was she? Even if she’d gone on a girls’ trip away, surely she’d have expected to be in contact with her fiance? Sam had been unconscious for days now, and no one had—thankfully for Castiel—heard anything from her. Though if what Charlie had said was true, only Dean knew anything about her, and he, apparently, didn’t approve. From what he’d come to know of Dean, he suspected that if Dean thought this Ruby woman was bad news, she probably was.

After all, Dean’s suspicious instincts had certainly been right when it came to Castiel himself, even if the call from the hospital had temporarily muted his misgivings.

He realised he was staring at Dean’s broad shoulders, and shook himself. Ogling your fiancé’s brother, even your fake fiancé’s brother, was probably not on. He was starting to wonder about Dean though. There’d been a notable lack of pronouns when Dean had spoken about his love life, and earlier, back at Sam’s, Dean’s comment about the Feminax had struck him too. Even Castiel knew what that stuff was, but Dean had apparently got his information from Charlie, not a girlfriend of his own.

It was… interesting.

“You feeling better?” Dean turned and gave him a searching look as they reached the sliding doors of the blood clinic.

Castiel nodded, cursing the flush that rose on his cheeks and hoping Dean would attribute them to the frosty night air. “Thanks to you, yes. I’m sorry I forgot to eat; that was stupid of me.”

“Yeah.” Dean stared down at his boots. “I forgot to eat too, back when it was just Sam an’ me.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Can I help you boys?” A matronly looking woman came to the door where Castiel stood, frozen with shame.

Dean Winchester knew _exactly_ how little money he had.

“We’re here to give blood.” Dean stepped in front of him, all business. “Cas here got a call from the hospital.”

His heart warming a little at that friendly ‘Cas’, Castiel nodded and gave his full name to the lady, as they followed her over to the reception desk.

“It’s good of you to come down,” she said, handing them two clipboard with forms and pens attached. “Most people’s blood is 90% eggnog at the moment, so we’re running short. Here you go, fill those in and bring ‘em back for me to check.”

The waiting-room was deserted—it was, after all, late the evening—and they settled quickly to fill in their forms.

“Ah crap.”

Castiel glanced up from his form. “What?”

“Looks like you were right,” Dean said, nudging Castiel and pointing to a point further down his form. “Says you can donate now if you’re a—” he lowered his voice—“‘ _man who has sex with men’_ , but, er only if... “ He coughed. “Well, I think you’d better look yourself.”

Castiel leaned over to check where he was pointing.

“ _Men who have sex with men are now eligible to donate blood, but must have abstained from sex with another man for at least 3 months before they can give blood. This replaces the previous rule of 1 full year’s abstention prior to blood or plasma donation.”_

Castiel bit his lip. It had certainly been well over 3 months, probably closer to 3 years, but he couldn’t tell Dean that. On the other hand, unless he told Dean _something_ then he wouldn’t be able to give blood, and at this point that was the one good thing he could do for Sam, and anyone else who needed it.

“Sorry.” Dean touched his arm, his face contrite. “You must be disappointed. But remember, you’ve already saved his life, you’ve done enough.”

“It’s been more than 3 months.”

Green eyes widened. “More than…?”

Castiel nodded. “I’ve not been feeling too well.”

“That’s, er.” Dean coughed. “Sorry, TMI really, it bein’ my brother n’all. But, wow. OK. You should get checked out man. I’m sure Sam would help out, you know, if your insurance didn’t cover it properly, or… whatever.” He turned away, his face flaming red, and got to his feet. “I think we’re done here.”

His own face burning, Castiel finished the remaining questions, and followed Dean to the reception desk.

“Thanks,” the receptionist said, taking both clipboards. “I’ll check these through, and if everything’s ok, I’ll get Donna, our nurse to take you through for the preliminary checks. I’ll just be a minute.”

Castiel returned to his seat and checked his phone. Dean, seated beside him again, seemed too embarrassed to talk.

“Sir, um, Mr Winchester—you’ve left this question blank.”

Flushing, and with a quick glance at Castiel, Dean returned to the reception desk. Castiel returned his gaze to his phone, where he typed a brief apology to Mrs Mancini’s earlier message, and promised to replace any washing Gypsum might have ruined—though how he was going to afford that, he didn’t know. Going by the last bill, Mrs Mancini had surprisingly expensive tastes in lingerie.

“This bit, Sir.” The receptionist lowered her voice, but the room was empty and the sound travelled in the stark clinical atmosphere. “Don’t worry, Sir. This is _entirely_ confidential, and does not link up with any other medical records or health insurance. It’s purely a screening process.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dean hunched over the counter. “Yes,” Castiel heard faintly. “No, it’s been more than 3 months. I’m certain of that.”

“That’s fine,” the woman sat back, smiling, and Castiel looked away quickly, his heart thumping in his chest. “You get back to your partner, and I’ll go and get the nurse.”

“Yeah, um, not. Um… Never mind.”

Dean threw himself into the seat next to Castiel and pulled out his own phone. The silence grew suddenly awkward.

“I’d better tell Ellen where I’ve got to. She worries and it’s not good for her.”

“Her heart, yes.” Castiel’s own voice wavered, as the implications of Dean’s words continued to resonate, leaving him strangely breathless. “What actually happened?”

He asked more to distract himself more than anything else.

“She’s got that ‘broken heart syndrome’,” Dean replied, his eyes fixed on his phone. “A type of heart failure, except in her case it wasn’t so much a broken heart, as absolute terror.”

“Hello gentlemen. Can I call you that?” A cheery voice, Minnesota to its core, sounded above them. “You look like gentlemen to me. Come this way, boys, just a little blood test to do first.”

“Both of us?” Castiel looked up to see a short woman in her mid-thirties, sporting a warm smile. She was dressed in nurse’s scrubs, and held their notes in her hands.

“A blood test?” Dean looked suddenly pale. “Can we go in together?”

The nurse glanced at the receptionist, who nodded.

“Yup, looks like it.” She ushered them towards the double doors and then followed her blonde ponytail through the corridors. “I’m Nurse Hanscum, but you boys can call me Donna. It’s good of youse to come down here when everyone else is partying. But I see you’ve ticked the friends & relatives box.” She opened the curtains to a cubicle. “I’m real sorry to hear that, but you are making a difference.”

“It’s my brother, Sammy,” Dean said, apparently recovered from his earlier embarrassment. “He’s up in neurology—in a coma.”

Castiel touched his arm as they sat down together. “The doctor said he’s making good progress, Dean.” He met the nurse’s sympathetic gaze. “He’s responding to stimuli, they’re going to start reducing his sedation.”

“Sounds like things are going the right way, then,” Donna said, pulling on blue gloves. “So, I gotta just go over these questions one final time before doing the bloods, so please don’t take it personally. Which of you’s Castiel Novak?”

“That’s me.” Castiel held up his hand, suddenly relieved he was to go first. It gave Dean time to run away, if that’s what he needed to do. Because unless Castiel had misheard, this was about to get very embarrassing.

“Cool. Righty ho. I see you’ve ticked the gay or bisexual box, Castiel, so just gotta check—no sex for the last 3 months? You absolutely sure?” She glanced between them, her gaze quizzical but unthreatening.

Castiel shook his head. “I’ve, er, not been feeling too good.”

“That’s not much fun.” She wrinkled her nose. “Nothing serious I hope?”

“Just tired, and run down. Nothing that would stop me from giving blood.”

She eyed him narrowly. “Yeah, well, let’s check that out anyway, huh, I don’t want you passing out on me. Now, Dean Winchester I’m takin’ it. What about you?” She turned to Dean’s sheet and ran her finger down the page.

His cheeks red with transferred embarrassment, Castiel turned away.

“Yeah…” Dean swallowed next to him. “Um, can we—” He glanced over at Castiel, and licked his lips. “Um, it’s…”

Obviously sensing something, Donna glanced between them, and then focussed back on Dean. “If you want to do this separately, you can wait in reception. I’ll take your man here through the tests and onto the blood room first, and then come back for you.”

She probably thought Dean’s reluctance was because he’d been cheating, Castiel realised, with a sudden pang.

“It’s fine, Dean,” he said, hastening to reassure him, and turned back to Donna. “And it’s um, we’re not—”

“It’s fine,” Dean cut in, with sudden decision, though the eyes that met Castiel’s were nothing less than terrified. “There’s nothing Cas can’t hear.”

Castiel touched his arm, turning him gently towards him. “You can tell me anything, Dean. Nothing will go beyond this room, I promise you that.”

“O-kay…” Donna turned to her form, her brow wrinkled. “So, just the same questions here, Dean. You’ve put down that you’re either gay or bisexual, and—”

“Bisexual,” Dean blurted, then cast an anxious glance towards Castiel.

Steadily, Castiel met his gaze, waited until Dean had registered his gaze, and then nodded. Dean’s breathing began to slow.

“I, erm, it’s been men, recently, though. There were women, years ago. But not, I mean, I’m not, they don’t really…”

As Dean floundered to a close, Donna seemed stuck between amusement and consternation.

“It’s all right sweetie, you didn’t actually have to tell me any of that. All I needed to know is when you last had sex with men, er, or just a man.” She darted a quick glance at Castiel. “Unless, as I said, you’d like to continue this discussion elsewhere.”

“That sounds like a come on,” Dean said, and immediately winced. “Sorry.” He held his hands up. “I’m nervous, that’s all, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Lots of people don’t like blood,” Donna reassured him, her frown clearing, as she gave Castiel a sly smile. “And I can tell where your interest really lies, so don’t you worry about that.”

Castiel suppressed a groan. He’d read somewhere, that once you start a lie, it only grows bigger and bigger until it implodes. But ever since he’d saved Sam and met Dean, the lies were not only growing bigger, but multiplying like horny rabbits and hopping all over the place, causing chaos in the vegetable patch.

“Over a year. The last time, it was over a year ago,” said Dean, breaking into Castiel’s flight of fluffy fancy.

“And that was a man, yeah?” Donna nodded, signing the form. “All right then, we’re ready to take your blood. Hold out your finger, Castiel, it’ll just be a scratch.”

“You’re not taking it from our arms?” Dean looked hopeful, and Donna laughed.

“Don’t worry, we will. This is just a finger prick test, to check you’re not anaemic.”

“Oh, okay.” Dean looked away, staring studiously at the floor, as Castiel held out his hand.

“He nervous around needles?” she asked, as she pressed something sharp into his finger, and then dipped a test strip into the small bubble of blood that appeared on his skin. “There you go, all over. Easy peasy, wasn’t it.”

“I barely felt a thing,” said Castiel, continuing to produce rabbits. Dean eyed the finger, which was still bleeding, dubiously.

“Just hold this swab on, whilst I check the results.” Donna handed him a piece of cotton, and then held up the little device as a number appeared in green light. “Yikes.”

“What?” Castiel peered over. “Is that bad?”

“Well it’s not good, honey. You’re anaemic.” She turned the device towards him. “That blood count should be at least 13, for a guy, and yours is 8.5. I’m afraid you won’t be able to donate blood, not today anyway.”

“Is 8.5 dangerous?” Dean seemed to have overcome the squeamishness he was hiding so badly. “I thought you looked ill earlier, in the bathroom.”

“I wondered myself,” Donna agreed. “Especially when you said you’d been so tired. Two healthy young men like you. You’re very pale Castiel. You should see your doctor to get a full blood count done. It’ll be more accurate.”

“That’s what _I_ told him,” said Dean, siding with Donna. “So, what can he do? Lots of steak?”

“I can’t afford steak!” Panicked, Castiel stared at them both, then realising what he’d finally admitted, he sank back in his chair. “I have a tight budget. Surely I can just take iron tablets?”

“You certainly can. Less fun, but certainly cheaper, and _just_ as effective.” She lowered her voice. “Get that full blood count done, but just pick up the iron tablets in a drugstore, it’ll be a lot cheaper.”

“We’ll pick some up on the way back to your place,” Dean said firmly, and Castiel’s mouth opened. “Oh yeah, I’m not leaving you to walk home. Sam’d kill me if I left you to pass out and fall in the river.”

“I’m _fine_!” Castiel rolled his eyes, though his chest warmed.

“You can stay with me for the blood donation, and then I’ll drop you home. No arguments.”

Pulling on fresh gloves, Donna grinned over at Castiel. “I think it’s you who’ll be doing _him_ the favour.” She shook her head at Dean’s protests. “I wasn’t born yesterday, I know when someone’s scared. So, what is it, blood or needles?”

“Um…” Dean looked hunted for a moment, and then gave up. “Both?”

“Right, well, loverboy here can hold your other hand and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You’ll barely notice. It’s lucky he came too, really. We don’t normally allow other people in the room.”

“Oh we’re not…” Castiel began.

But Dean shook his head. “That’d be good, thanks. Sorry,” he released a nervous huff. “I know it’s stupid. I don’t have a problem with other people’s blood, I even used to stitch up my brother when we were little, when… Yeah, well, it’s _my_ blood that’s the problem.”

“Everyone’s got something,” Donna reassured him, taking his hand and covering it from view as she pressed the clicker to his forefinger. “With me it’s teeth. Can’t stand them!” Dean yelped. “There you go, all done. Now let’s set you up in the donation room.”


	17. Chapter 17

Ten minutes later, they were set up in another cubicle, Castiel seated on a hard plastic chair beside the bed, as Donna numbed Dean’s arm with some brightly coloured cream that was apparently reserved for kids.

“I’m gonna put the needle in now,” she announced, blocking Dean’s view of his arm. “Castiel, you go hold his other hand, and keep him occupied.” Castiel sat frozen in his seat, but she nudged him out of the way. “Go on! Don’t care how you distract him, long as it doesn’t leave a mess for me to clean up.”

“Dean?” He peered over the nurse’s shoulder. “I, um. Do you want me to—”

“Come here, Cas.” Dean, his face pale, beckoned him over. “Jeez man, I really hate this. Don’t tell Sam, will ‘ya? He’ll never let me live it down.”

“I told you,” Castiel said softly, as he sat down on the bed. “I won’t tell _anyone_.” His tone was meaningful, and Dean gazed up at him, his green eyes wide.

“I’m sorry.” Dean rubbed his face with his free hand. “I know I look a mess. It’s just…”

“I know. It’s all been a bit much,”Castiel reassured him. “Coming ou… coming _home_ to find your brother in a coma, finding out about _me_ —I am so sorry about that, by the way, more sorry than you’ll ever know.” With an effort, he gathered his thoughts. “Now you’re giving blood, and you’ve had a lot of shocks today…even Fluffy must have been a surprise.”

Dean nodded, as Donna stepped back with a smile. Dean flashed a quick look at his arm, from which now protruded a scarlet-filled line, and then closed his eyes, his lips tight.

“All done, boys. Keep still and I’ll be back with an orange juice and cookie in about ten minutes.” Donna winked at Castiel. “Whatever you’re doing to distract him, it’s working. But remember what I said—no mess for me to clean up.”

“She’s quite something,” Castiel remarked, settling himself cross-legged on the bed, facing Dean, as Donna’s blonde head disappeared around the corner.

“She _and_ Fluffy.” Dean chuckled, although his face was still pale. “You’re right thought,it has been a strange few days.”

“And you’ve been very brave.” Castiel caught Dean by the arm, as he shook his head in denial. “No, don’t downplay it, Dean. You’ve come out, if only to me and Nurse Hanscum, though I don’t think she realised what you were doing. I assume your family don’t know?”

Dean shook his head. “I never told Bobby and Ellen, didn’t really know how they’d react.”

“It’s been a big day then, we should celebrate.”

“I don’t feel like celebrating.” Dean flexed his fingers experimentally, keeping his gaze on Castiel. “This feels weird.”

“Well, maybe not tonight then. If we’re both short of blood, we’ll probably end up getting getting kicked out of the bar.”

“Yeah, you gonna get that sorted? Anaemia can be dangerous.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear.”

“Don’t you ‘yes dear’ me.” Dean nudged his knee. “I’m looking after Sam’s interests.”

“Does Sam know?”

“About me?” Dean shrugged. “I don’t think so. I used to, well,” Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I used to have a bit of a reputation with the girls, and though it’s been a very long time, that reputation’s kinda stuck, and no-one’s ever questioned it.”

“But you’ve been single for a while?” Castiel cringed as he realised what he’d said. “Sorry. And there I was saying I wouldn’t remember anything I overheard.”

“I think you just promised you wouldn’t say anything to anyone else, actually.” Dean rolled his shoulders, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching over his muscles.

Castiel turned his gaze to the bedsheets. “You’ve never told anyone?”

“My friends do, just not ones that know my family. My dates, my male dates, obviously knew, but they only usually ended in one-night stands.” Dean pursed his lips. “There was just one guy, I saw more than once. Aaron. We dated, but I couldn’t be open about it, and so he broke it off. Can’t say I blame him.”

“But Bobby and Ellen have been very supportive about Sam and me,” Castiel said tentatively. “At least if they have a problem they’re not saying anything. It seems to me like you could be yourself with them, if you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled darkly. “Well I know that _now_! Where were you ten years ago? Could have saved me a load of angst if Sam’d gone first!”

“I’m sorry. It must be a strain keeping it under wraps.” He hesitated. “Do you feel any better now you’ve told me?”

“I don’t know.” Dean broke off, seeming to take stock of his body, though carefully avoiding the needle and blood bag. “Lighter maybe.”

“That’s just the blood loss.”

Dean barked a laugh.

“I think I can see why Sam likes you.”

“You couldn’t see before?” Castiel pressed his hand to his chest in mock dismay. “So, will you tell your family now you’ve seen their reaction?” He stopped as a thought hit him. Was it fair to encourage Dean to reveal all, thinking Sam was an ally, believing he wasn’t alone in this? “Don’t let me push you,” he added quickly. “You should only do it in your own time, when you feel ready.”

“I just might. It’s been weird, everything I feared, have worried about for years, and Sam goes and does it first—and in what a way.” Dean shook his head. “I’m almost bitter about it.”

“Bitter?”

“Yeah. Everything’s always so _easy_ for Sam…” He trailed off, looking horrified at himself. “God, I keep forgetting you’re his. His fiance, I mean. I’ve never seen you together so I guess the message hasn’t reached my brain. I don’t want him thinking I’m jealous of his success. Because I’m not. I don’t want his high flying job or his apartment, and I certainly don’t want that hell creature he calls his cat. I’m happy as a mechanic, or I would be if I could get my restoration business going. It’s just, I was freaking out about this for so long. And he then he just waltzed in with his life all sorted. He didn’t even have to come out to them. You did it for him!”

Castiel cringed, but Dean patted his hand, lying on the white sheets between them. “It’s not your fault, Cas.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “No. If anything this whole mess is my dad’s fault.”

“Your dad?” He seemed doomed to spend the dad repeating things like an idiot.

“Our dad was one of those manly guys, you know? Shooting range. Beating people up in bars. I don’t know if he was like that before my mom died, but he sure as hell was after. All it took was a couple of drinks and his fists would be out.” Dean shivered a little and Castiel turned his hand over, to squeeze it. “He couldn’t stand anyone being ‘soft’. You know what Vonnegut said—if you want to hurt your parents, be gay or go into the arts. He made it damn well clear that he wanted no ’nancy boys’, didn’t even like having books an’ music around so the arts weren’t an option either. You see that kinda attitude growing up, you shut up—and become a mechanic.”

“Shut up and pretend you like girls too?”

Dean stared, open-jawed.

Castiel shrugged, and backed off, giving him a little more space. “It’s fine if you do like girls, I’ve got no problem with that at all—but from what you’ve said, about the need to overplay it, and not having had any girlfriends for a few years, I wondered, did you really like those other girls, or was it a cover?”

“I… I don’t know, man,” Dean faltered, after a minute, and rubbed his chin. “I definitely like women. In fact I probably have the hots for a lot more women than men. And there were no problems in the bedroom, if you catch my drift.” He grunted and cast Castiel a sheepish glance. “Sorry, TMI, brother’s fiance an’ all. “It’s just, when I find a guy I _really_ like, it’s better. And I guess that’s why it’s been a while. I don’t just want a hot body, I want something more.”

“Well that’s understandable. And it isn’t usually a fifty-fifty split anyway.”

“Yeah, Charlie says that too. She knows, though she guessed rather than me telling her. She’s pretty surprised about Sam though, said she didn’t see that one coming.” Dean shook his head again. “Man. I can’t believe he was about to marry a guy and spring it on the family, assuming everyone would be cool with it. Doesn’t he have doubts and worries, like normal people?”

“He was at Stanford.That’s California, and anyway, at college you tend to mix with a lot of different people, see a lot of different points of view.” Castiel swallowed suddenly. He was sticking as close to the truth as he could, but it didn’t seem to be dampening the roiling guilt in his gut.

He was going to tell Charlie that he had to tell them the truth. They’d never want to see him again, and that would be awful, he felt nauseous thinking about it, but it was better than being a fraud.

“Hey, you feelin’ okay?” Dean was eyeing him suspiciously. “I thought I was supposed to be the one passing out at the sight of blood.”

“Yes.” He waved his hand. “I’m fine, just… thinking I guess.”

“Bout college? You been?”

Castiel shook his head. “I wanted to, but we couldn’t afford it and I couldn’t go so far from my dad, so a scholarship wasn’t even an option. I started at a community college instead, but when my dad got ill, I left to look after him. I’ve got no real qualifications at all.”

“That sucks.” Dean frowned. “But what about your twin? Where was… I mean, I know he died, but you said he was a tax accountant, so…” He faltered to the end, his face red.

Castiel put him out of his misery. “Jimmy,” he said heavily. “He was the clever one, the one who could do the numbers. Jimmy was warm, and funny; he knew how to talk to people. I was always better at English and history but I was quiet and awkward.”

In every picture they had of the two of them, people could always tell them apart. Jimmy’s face would be open and smiling, his posture relaxed, whilst Castiel would be the dour one, his arms folded, always looking slightly away from the camera.

“I thought tax accountants were usually the quiet and awkward ones.” Dean gave him a small smile.

“Well that was me.” Jimmy had always been the successful one. So many times he’d heard Aunt Naomi—not really an aunt, just Jimmy’s Godmother—telling people about her clever, ambitious, Godson. Usually followed by a mournful ‘but poor Castiel, of course…’.”

“You don’t seem like that with me.”

Castiel stopped at that. “Trust me. I’m usually awkward.” He shook his head. “Jimmy was the bright one, the one that would do well. A religious foundation offered him a scholarship on the other side of the country, and he took it.”

“Leaving you to look after your sick dad.”

“He was the clever one! The one who everyone knew would amount to something.”

“Leaving you to look after your sick dad,” Dean repeated, his brows drawn into a frown. “Don’t seem fair to me.”

“What about you?” Castiel turned the question round. “Sam went to Stanford. You stayed home.”

“Already told you. Someone had to pay for Sammy’s extras, and I was happy to be a grease monkey. Wasn’t much good for anything else.”

“I find _that_ hard to believe.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean grunted. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you read Vonnegut, you quoted him earlier.”

The curtain swept open and Donna bustled into the room, her blonde ponytail bouncing.

“Hello again, boys. How y’all doing?” She raised an eyebrow as she examined the needle and tubing at Dean’s elbow. “This is all coming along nicely. You want that orange juice and cookies now? That’s not really a question by the way, we force feed you. I’ll get you some too, sweetie.”

“Er, thank you.” Castiel glanced at the blood donation bag, which seemed pretty full. “How much longer will it take?”

“I’ll take it out when I come back with your cookies. But you’ll have to stay until we’re sure you won’t pass out on the way home.” She pulled back the cubicle curtain and waved. “See ya in a minute.”

“It sounds like I should be escorting _you_ home,” Castiel said, as Donna disappeared.

Dean turned his gaze from the bulging blood bag, and gave him a strained smile.

“We’ll have to walk each other home like teenagers. We’ll still be going back and forth tomorrow morning. So, what were we talking about, your college ambitions? You could still go, man. Work your way through.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s a bit late for all that. I’ve been thinking though—”

“But it’s never too late to change your life!” Dean apologised, and then waved him on as Donna reappeared with a tray of drinks. “Go on, I didn’t mean ta interrupt.”

“Here you go, get all that down you and I’ll be back to check on you in ten minutes.” Donna placed the tray on the over-bed table. There were two plastic cups of juice, and two cookies each on a pile of paper towels. “Extra cookies, because you’ve been so brave.” She winked. “Don’t tell my boss, that guy has a heart of stone.”

They waited until she had gone.

“Dean…”

Dean turned to him, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the cookies. “Here you go, make sure you get your share too.” He stuffed a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth, his cheeks bulging as he chewed. “Not the best, but it _is_ a hospital. Sorry man, what were you saying?”

Castiel took his cookie, and then placed it, carefully, on his paper towel. “I was just thinking. About you and Sam, and it occurred to me—don’t you know why, despite your dad’s views, Sam might be so confident he’s going to be loved and accepted?”

Dean shrugged. “Just figured he was born under a lucky star.”

“Yes,” Castiel said meaningfully. “If by lucky star you mean _you_.”

“I’ve bin called many things, Cas, but never that.”

“It’s because of you,” Castiel told him, turning to look him in the eye. “I know it’s hard to watch him get every desire. I _know._ But the _reason_ he gets every desire, that he’s so confident in who he is—is you. You’ve provided him with the safety and security you didn’t get yourself. And you can see the difference—”

“But Bobby and Ellen–” Dean broke in, his face scarlet.

“Yes, I know they stepped in later, and that’s wonderful, but a child’s formative experiences, the earliest years, are those that help determine whether he’s a secure, confident adult. And _you_ gave Sam everything he needed. I know it’s not fair. You deserved to have that kind of start too.” He shook his head. “Jesus, I don’t think you realise what you actually did. Dean, you could have followed your dad, you could have treated Sam the way _you’d_ been treated, or only looked out for yourself. No one would have blamed you if you didn’t know any better. But instead you saw a brighter future and turned both your lives around. You gave Sam the sort of safe, loving start that allowed him to be the confident man he is today.”

“Cas, man.” Dean’s gaze dropped. He was twisting the paper napkin between his fingers. “It was nothin’ special. Sam was a good kid, anyone woulda—”

“It was _everything_.” Castiel reached over and hooked up his chin, to gaze into hot, embarrassed eyes. “Dean. You gave him _everything_. But to do it, you had to give up your own dreams.” He paused. It wasn’t his place, he wasn’t really a member of this family, however much he wanted to be. It had to be said though. He softened his voice. “It’s your turn now, Dean. Your turn to be open about who you are. And now it’s your turn to follow your dream.”


	18. Chapter 18

Later, much later, they drove back through the empty city before Dean dropped Castiel off outside his apartment.

Dean pulled up the handbrake. “You gonna be ok going in?”

“I’m anaemic Dean, not an invalid.”

“You have a blood count of 8.5.”

“I promise you,” Castiel said, doing the Scouts’ promise, before undoing his seatbelt. “That I will manage to stagger the twenty feet to my door without passing out.”

“It’s an ice rink out there." Dean sighed. "I’m just lookin’ after you, for Sam.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. But I’ll be fine. I was more worried about you, in the donation room.”

Dean grunted. “Hey! I thought we were never gonna mention that again.”

On standing up, Dean had crashed to the floor and been forced to eat three more cookies before Donna would let them go.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel was contrite. “I won’t mention your little fainting episode to anyone, if you stop fussing over me.”

“You need someone to fuss over you. With Sam down, you haven’t got anyone!”

“And neither have you,” Castiel said, gently. “So how about we both just keep an eye on each other?”

“All right.” Dean nodded. “That’s a deal. See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be heading to the hospital in the evening.” Castiel gathered his belongings. “Thanks for the lift, I’m glad I didn’t have to walk home tonight.”

“It’s my pleasure. And I mean that.” Dean scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Look Cas, I’m sorry ‘bout what happened in Sam’s room earlier. I shouldn’t have accused you like that.”

Castiel swallowed the guilt choking his throat, and nodded. “I hope you’ll believe me one day, when I say I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you or your family, Dean.”

After waving Dean off, Baby roaring off into the night, Castiel stepped gingerly across the tarmac front, before heading into the house. There was a buzzing in his veins he couldn’t quite account for, but it might have been the anaemia.

The buzzing came to a sudden halt, when Mrs Mancini appeared in the hallway, slightly the worse for wear, dressed in a stained satin neglige and swaying from side to side.

“Hey, Castiel! That you? Your cat’s been stealing my washing again.”

Sighing, he stopped on the third stair. “I’m sorry about Gypsum, Mrs Mancini, I did send you a message. What’s she taken this time?”

Mrs Mancini stepped closer, and Castiel wrinkled his nose at the deluge of sour alcohol.

“My new panties,” she croaked, beckoning him towards her. “I only bought them last week. Cost me a fortune, they did.”

Castiel sighed once more. “Of course they did,” he replied, retreating up the stairs. “Somehow they always do. Well, bring me a receipt and I’ll do what I can.”

Once he had fed Gypsum, and tidied up, he sank to his bed, his phone in his hands.

Castiel: Charlie, I can’t do this any more. I’m telling them the truth.

_Charlie: What, NOW?_

Castiel: Tomorrow. I have to.


	19. Chapter 19

When the doorbell rang, the next morning, Castiel was still in his boxers, ruminating on how he was going to break the news, and what Dean—no—what _they_ might say. Sighing, he hauled himself from bed, shuffling across the floor as he pushed his hair from his eyes.

“Who is it?”

It was probably Mrs Mancini, with the receipt. He hadn’t got any cash to pay her, so she’d have to wait for pay day.

He flung open the door, expecting an irate Italian lady.

What he got was Balthazar.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“How _you_ doin’?” Balthazar had recently gone through a ‘Friends’ phage, thanks to all the reruns. It was better, though only marginally, then his Titantic phase, and at least he’d finally stopped leaning over the stair rail and screeching ‘Jack! I’ll never let go!’ whenever Castiel walked down the stairs.

“I’m fine, Balthazar.” Castiel tried to block him from entering, as Gypsum ran through their legs and into the apartment. “What do want?”

“Is that any way to greet your landlord?” Balthazar pushed past, leering as he scanned Castiel up and down. “Nice boxers!”

Castiel fought off the instinct to cover his crotch.

“What do you _want_? I’ve paid my rent. I haven’t broken anything. The block isn’t on fire, unless you’ve been cooking again.”

“Can’t I hang out with my favourite tenant?”

Castiel glanced at his watch. “Not at eight am, no.” He had no time for this. He had the day off from the tollbooth, and although he hadn’t planned to go to the hospital until the evening, he wanted to meet up with Gabriel and ask his advice on how best to break the news.

Sauntering through his apartment, Balthazar whistled as he caught sight of the rest of Castiel’s boxers, drying on the heater.

“I’m disappointed, Cassie. I thought we had a date.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped. “A _date_? At eight am?”

He knew he was often oblivious to the signals other men sent out, but he also knew that if he ever gave Balthazar a single inch, he’d take a mile, so he’d always been extremely firm about refusing all potential dates.

“Yes, a _date_.” Balthazar sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s when two people like each other, and go out and have—” He licked his lips. “Sex…”

Apparently Balthazar had swapped Friends for Sherlock. Castiel wasn’t sure if that was good news, or bad. It probably depended on whether Balthazar took to shooting his initials in the wall.

“I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

Balthazar pouted. “I’m English, I think you’ll find that _I’m_ the expert on this. Anyway, as I told that leather-coated sex bomb who came looking for you yesterday, I am _definitely_ your boyfriend. And boyfriends go on dates.”

“Leather-coated? Oh…” Oh God. Castiel’s heart sank. No wonder Dean had been so suspicious. “You spoke to Dean, yesterday?”

“He was playing hard to get, he didn’t tell me his name.”

Castiel scrubbed a hand down his face. “What did he look like?”

Balthazar shrugged. “Eyes the colour of Slytherin, a jaw that would make Harrison Ford weep, freckles like little orphan Annie? Some big American muscle car too.” He sniffed. “Not exactly my taste, I like something a little more subtle, a little more refined.”

It… definitely sounded like Dean.

Castiel swore. “Oh God, what did you tell him?”

“Only the truth sweets. That you and I have a little ‘arrangement’ going on.”

“We do: An arrangement whereby I sweep the hallway and stairs, and you knock 5% off my rent.”

Balthazar shook his head “Nope… sorry, I don’t think I mentioned that one.”

Castiel scrubbed his brow. He knew Balthazar in one of these moods. He was never going to get a straight answer so the best thing to do was get rid of him so he can turn his mind to how, exactly, he was going to tell the Winchester-Harvelle-Singer family that he’d been lying to them since Christmas.

“Can you _please_ leave me alone, Balthazar. I’m having a bad time.”

But Balthazar had installed himself on the window seat, and was peering through the condensation; eyeing someone up, by the looks of it. He glanced back over his shoulder. “A bad time?”

“Yes. A bad time. The man I love is in a coma, Gypsum has been stealing Mrs Mancini’s lingerie again, and I—”

Balthazar huffed. “The man you love is standing right in front of you, asking you to marr—”

Castiel crossed his arms. “He really, really isn’t. _Please_ go, Balthazar. Haven’t you got some TV to—”

He broke off as Balthazar wolf-whistled, but for once it wasn’t at Castiel. Instead, he was gazing at the sidewalk below.

“Jesus, Balthazar, what are you _doing?_ You can’t go round wolf-whistling at men, that’s harassment!”

“Not a man. Oooh, I’m going to go down and say hello.” Balthazar jumped up from the shabby window seat.

Castiel blocked his path. “That doesn’t make it any better! Women would be treated with respect, not harassed when they’re just going about their business.” He sighed. “Look. I’d really really appreciate it if you’d stop telling people we’re dating. Because we really, _really_ , aren’t.” Balthazar didn’t seem to be paying any attention. “Balthazar, I’m serious! It could get me into trouble.”

The doorbell rang.

“Oh Christ.”

“Castiel? Are you there?”

Castiel froze. Someone was calling from right outside his apartment door.

The voice was muffled, but it definitely a woman. Calling from right outside his apartment door. Mrs Mancini must have let her in. Oh God, maybe it was Ellen! She’d said something about popping round with an engagement gift. He’d tried to stop her, but she hadn’t been listening.

Apparently no one was listening to him, except, perhaps, Dean.

“Castiel, are you in there?”

“Shit!”

“Swearing, sweetheart? That’s not like you.” Balthazar batted his eyelashes. “Right, well, I’d better go and check out—”

But Castiel had grabbed his arm.

“Hey, what’s—”

“You are staying here,” Castiel informed him, pulling him towards the hall cupboard.

“In here?” Balthazar tried to struggle free. “What’s going on?”

Castiel opened the door. “I’ve got the Sherlock pilot, the one they never showed, on DVD,” he said enticingly. “Stay in the closet, Bal, and I’ll let you have it.”

Balthazar raised an eyebrow. “Throw in that yummy film with Bill Pullman, and it sounds like a deal.”

“Castiel?”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. “You just stay there,” he hissed, shoving Balthazar into the cupboard.

“All right, all right. It’s a deal.” Balthazar raised his hands in surrender and stepped into the cupboard. “But just so you know, nobody keeps Balthazar in the closet. Not even you.”


	20. Chapter 20

Bracing himself, Castiel limped towards his apartment door, whilst various thumps emanated from the closet in the hallway.

He swung the door open and was relieved to find Charlie stood on the doorstep, muffled in a thick coat and a startlingly bright red beret.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel was glad to see her, if surprised that she’d bothered to travel out to his apartment.

“Can I come in?” Charlie glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry, I thought… I wondered if you had company.”

He shook his head. ”No, it’s fine. Um, you didn’t have to come all this way out to see me. We could have done this on the phone.”

“Done what?” She tilted her head, her usually smiling face was sombre. “Look, can I come in, it’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” A little reluctantly, he held the door for her. “Come and sit down. Er, do you want a drink. I’ve got tea, but I’ve run out of coffee, I’m afraid. I haven’t had time to get to the store.”

He led her over to the ratty armchair and with a nod of thanks, she dropped into its slightly lopsided embrace.

“Ooof. I’m exhausted.” Charlie closed her eyelids, and he was shocked by the purple crescents underneath her eyes. “I was working all night and I should be in bed by now. A cup of tea would be great thank you.”

His hands a little jittery, he went to fill and turn on the kettle, hoping all the while that Balthazar would keep quiet. At least Charlie would know he wasn’t cheating on Sam, but in Castiel’s experience Balthazar rarely left a situation without making it somehow worse.

“I’m glad you came,” he called, over the rising whirr of the kettle.“We’ve got to tell them the truth. I can’t spend another evening with Dean, without clearing things up. Not…” he added, “that he will want to spend any more time with me once he knows.”

“You spent time with Dean last night?” She seemed to wake up a little at that.

“Well, yes.” He fussed with the cups. “He took me over to Sam’s apartment after something of a showdown in Sam’s room.”

“I did hear about that,” Charlie murmured, her eyes closing again. “Ellen was horrified he’d accused you.”

“It was only the truth,” Castiel said, folding his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. “And the longer we trick them, the worse it’s going to be when they find out. Dean and I got quite friendly last night, I’d hate to—I mean, when this comes out, I don’t want him to feel betrayed, or, or stupid for not having followed his instincts.” He shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

“Huh?” Charlie’s red hair appeared around the side of the armchair. “Did you two make up last night? The last I heard, you were at each other’s throats.”

“We went to feed the cat—you could have warned me, by the way—and—”

“Sam doesn’t have a cat!”

“Well there’s one living in his flat, and Sam was buying its dinner…” He shrugged. “Dean and I went over to feed it, and then had some dinner, before going to the hospital. It made sense to go together." It seemed to last night, anyway.

She frowned. “The cat must be Ruby’s, and I don’t have a clue where she’s got to. Not that I really care; she was bad news, but I would like to know where she’s sitting on the chess board, so to speak.” She jumped in shock as Gypsum leaped into her lap. “Oh, this is a nice kitty, Castiel!”

She petted Gypsum for a few minutes, her brow furrowed, whilst he looked hopefully, but unsuccessfully, in the cupboards for some biscuits.

“So, um, what do you think of Dean, now you’ve met him, I mean?” She was watching him curiously. “I guess you’ve heard a lot about him—Ellen and Bobby adore him, though Bobby would never show it—so I just wondered what you thought…”

He frowned at her, before the whistling kettle recalled him to his task. It seemed an odd question.

“I like him,” he said at last. “He’s a decent man. Very honest.”

She nodded. “He is. Handsome too, or so every straight woman in my acquaintance tells me.”

Castiel smiled as he poured the boiling water into the mugs, sharing one teabag between both cups. “He’s extremely good-looking, even more so than Sam. But I have to say, I was more impressed by how he takes such responsibility for his family. He really seems to feel it’s his job to protect them all from harm.” He picked up the mugs and carried them to the little stained coffee table he’d picked up off the sidewalk, shortly after he moved in. “And that’s why we have to tell him the truth. This is a massive betrayal of his—or _all_ their trust.”

Still wearing her fingerless gloves, Charlie wrapped her fingers around her mug, dipping her head and sighing as the steam rose into her face.

“I’m sorry there’s no milk,” he said. “I gave the last to Gypsum for breakfast.” He dropped down onto the sofa, avoiding the exposed spring at the far end. “I felt very uncomfortable, last night, Charlie. Dean and I went to donate blood at the hospital, and we spent the whole evening together, talking. Dean told me, well…” He flushed. That part of their conversation was not for Charlie’s ears, even though she _knew_ about Dean. “He really opened up, told me a lot about himself, and his upbringing, and I just felt awful, letting him believe my lies.” He rubbed his hand over his face and looked up at her beseechingly. “I can’t do it any more, Charlie, especially not to Dean, after everything he’s been through.”

“Especially not to Dean,” she repeated. “He actually opened up about his childhood, huh?” She stared down into her tea, turning the cup slowly in her mittened hands. And then she sighed. “You’re right that he will find this hard to forgive—”

“And the longer I lie, the worse it will be!”

“I know,” she said, and slowly placed her cup on the table. “But I’m afraid we have no choice.”

***

“What do you mean, we have no choice?” Castiel stared. “Of course we have a choice!”

Charlie shook her head. “Not right now, we don’t. It’s Ellen.” She bit her lip. “She’s…She’s—well after her little collapse the other day, I insisted on bringing her in for more tests. And I _really_ shouldn’t be telling you this, but…”

She trailed off, blinking rapidly, and suddenly cold, Castiel dropped down beside her, and took her hands in his.

“Charlie! What’s, what’s happened to Ellen? Is she… she’s not…” He could barely speak.

Ellen, so warm and vibrant, so welcoming, so clearly the sun around which the rest of the family orbited. How had this family found its way into his heart, so quickly and so entirely?

Charlie shook her head. “She’s not… no, she’s at home, in bed. She’s okay—for now. But the tests showed that her heart function has deteriorated more than we’d expected. It might be reversible, just an effect of the shock of Sam’s accident, she’s always been like a mother to him. But it’s not a good sign, and there’s very little than can be done, except to keep her as healthy and stress-free as possible.”

Castiel gripped her hand tighter. “Oh Charlie. I’m so sorry. Dean and the others must be devastated.”

“But they don’t know!” She stared up at him, her lips trembling. “Ellen doesn’t want them to know. She told me yesterday that meeting you has kept everyone’s spirits up since Sam’s accident, and she doesn’t want to ruin that by telling them _her_ bad news.”

He digested that in silence.

“I shouldn’t have told you, that was breaking patient confidentiality, but… You should have seen her Castiel. It was clear how much hope you’ve given her, and the rest of them. So when I saw your message saying you wanted to tell them all the truth, I had to get over here and stop you. I don’t like lying to any of them. But in a way, I’m doing what she asked, even if I have to break the rules to do it.”

She chewed on her lip. “Please Castiel. Please don’t tell them, not until Sam’s recovered and they’re happy again. You’ll break their hearts.”

And in Ellen's case, not just figuratively.

His own heart sank, every cell in his body protesting.

It was just that he’d stupidly hoped, somehow, that if the truth came out early enough, and he made a clean breast of it, to Dean… to Bobby and Ellen, then there might be some chance he could stay in touch. In the best case scenario, the fact he’d risked his own life to save Sam’s might, with just a few days of deception, have allowed them to overlook his dishonesty, perhaps even understand how it had come about. But the longer it went on, the worse the betrayal when it finally came out.

He sighed.

Realistically though, they wouldn’t care when he told them. He’d lied, and that was that.

“They’re going to hate me anyway,” he said, heavily. “Whether I tell them now, or tell them later.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I had a rather chaotic return from my holidays.

Sighing, Castiel closed the door. Below, in the hallway he heard the front door slam. Charlie, finally reassured that Ellen would remain in blissful ignorance of their deception, had gone home for a belated post-shift sleep. He rubbed his face. What on earth was he going to do now? The family wanted to invite him over for dinner again, and he’d have to find an excuse. The only way to get through this would be to avoid all members of the Winchester-Harvelle-Singer clan, until Sam woke up, and they could come clean. Charlie may have promised to explain it all, including how Jess and Charlie had railroaded him into it, but he had no illusions that that would help.

Stepping over Gypsum, who was threading around his legs, he gathered up Charlie’s mug and returned it to the kitchen. Dean had sent him a text earlier, to remind him to get his iron levels sorted, and he hadn’t yet had a chance to reply.

A thump and gasp from the hallway recalled him to his uninvited guest. He dropped his phone on the counter, then, sighing once more, he stalked over to the closet. His first priority was to get rid of Balthazar, before that idiot caused him any more problems. He dreaded to think what Balthazar had been up to in the twenty minutes Charlie was there, but at least he couldn’t get into too much trouble in a closet.

Taking a deep breath, he swung back the door.

Before him, on the upturned laundry basket, was Balthazar, his phone in one hand, the other in his lap. He had jumped at Castiel’s entrance, his face flushed and eyes dazed, before he hastily tucked his other hand out of sight.

But Castiel had caught sight of something blue and shiny.

“What have you got there?” Castiel asked, leaning in for a better look. "It's safe to come out now, by the way."

Balthazar jumped to his feet. “Goodness, is that the time?” He shoved his phone in his pocket, and pulled his deep v-neck sweater further down over his hips. “Places to be, people to see, et cetera. I won’t trespass on your time any–”

“Ahhhhhh!” A high-pitched gasp burst from Balthazar’s pocket.

Castiel froze.

“What was that?”

Balthazar, momentarily paralysed, cleared his throat before replying, pseudo-casually. “… What was what?”

“That. That noise?”

It had sounded like a woman, definitely a woman, high pitched, _in extremis_ of some kind or another.

Balthazar shook his head, movement returning as he pushed past Castiel. “I don’t know what y—”

“Ahhhhhh!”

Maybe she _was_ dying.

“Oh God!” A breathy moan. “Give it to me bab—”

Balthazar lurched towards his pocket, the flush spreading deep into his v-neck.

OK, so not dying.

Or perhaps just ‘une petite mort’.

“Jesus, Balthazar!” Castiel shook his head. Was there no end to the liberties Balthazar would take? “Were you seriously watching porn in my closet?”

Exposed now, Balthazar gave a slow chuckle as he switched his phone to silent. “When you’re in the closet it’s hard to have a meaningful relationship with anything other than your hand. You should know _that_ , Cassie…”

“Seriously, Balthazar?” Castiel rubbed his eyes. Even his cupboards weren’t safe. “You actually—you were trying to, to–” His face flushing red, he finger quoted, “‘Rub one out’, in my closet?”

“They were so silky!” Balthazar protested. “I was _bored_. How can you expect me not to call up my favourite video when I find something like that?”

Castiel stared at him. Balthazar was odd and probably had some kind of sexual addiction, but even for him, this didn’t make sense.

“What….” He said finally, and reluctantly, “Do you mean, ‘silky’?”

Slowly, Balthazar withdrew his other hand from his pocket, as Castiel watched with a frown.

“Pure silk,” he gloated, pulling out something blue and shiny. “None of that polyester rubbish. I couldn’t resist.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped as Balthazar drew the fabric to his nose... and sniffed. “You couldn’t resist—"

Not just fabric. Electric blue panties, satin, with a black lace trim.

What the hell was Balthazar doing with those? Not of course that it was his place to comment. Everyone had a right to express themselves. Just not in his closet.

“Are those _yours_?”

“Mine?” Balthazar dangled the panties between them with a leer that was probably supposed to be seductive. “I thought they were yours!”

“I don’t wear panties!”

Balthazar gave him an indulgent smile, his earlier embarrassment apparently forgotten. “It’s all right, Cassie, it’s 2020. There’s nothing wrong with experimenting with gender expression. We’ve all been there.”

“ _I_ haven’t been there,” Castiel said, keeping his distance from the panties. “Those aren’t mine, Balthazar.”

As they stared at each other, a shrill meow came from below. Gypsum stretched up, a paw against his thigh, as she tried to catch the swaying fabric.

“I feel like I should make a joke about pussy here.” Balthazar plucked the panties out of her reach.

“You really shouldn’t,” Castiel replied. “And as for those–they're not mind; they’re _hers_.”

He gestured to Mrs Mancini's apartment below.

“Your _cat_ wears panties?” Balthazar shook his head as he pondered this. “That’s some seriously kinky stuff, Cassie. Did the cat _consent_? Can cats even consent? I mean, they’re sentient creatures, so I suppose—”

Castiel threw his hands up.

“They’re not Gypsum’s, you assbutt. They’re Mrs Mancini’s!”

“Mrs Man—Shit!” Balthazar’s eyes widened with horror. “Seriously? You hoard Mrs Mancini’s panties in your closet? Jesus, Cassie. The cat thing was bad enough. This is fucking rank.”

“I didn’t take them,” he ground out, frustration overtaking him. “Gypsum seems to have a panty fetish. Sometimes she steals them from the washing line, sometimes she brings them dirty from the dirty linen basket. Once they were encrusted…”

He trailed off, shuddering. He’d thrown them straight in the bin, and washed his hands very very carefully. He almost hadn’t minded paying to replace _that_ pair.

Regarding the panties with frank loathing, Balthazar gingerly held them out. “Mrs Mancini’s _worn_ these?”

Castiel nodded, biting his lip as laughter began to bubble up inside him. It really did serve Balthazar right.

“So, er, did you already use them, or were you just getting started?”

He assumed Balthazar had been hoping to sneak them out and take them home. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened next.

Balthazar was looking a little green. “Well, not used, as such, but, yes, well, I was certainly finding them inspirational.” He moaned a little. “You don’t happen to have one of those yellow hazardous waste bins?”

“Unfortunately,” Castiel said. “I don’t. Anyway, knowing Mrs Mancini, they’re hideously expensive.” He ushered Balthazar towards the door, and shook his head as Balthazar draped the panties over his arm. “ _I_ don’t want them! Why don’t you drop them off at her place, on your way out.” He raised an eyebrow as Balthazar turned and bolted into the hallway, abandoning the panties. “If you're very lucky, she might even reward you.”


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel slammed the door closed, and leaned against it, groaning as a motorbike roared outside, probably one of Balthazar’s new ‘toys’. Perhaps he’d decided to escape into the night before Mrs Mancini got wind of his interest in her underwear.

As if she could hear Castiel’s thoughts, Gypsum came over to chirrup at the panties.

“Oh not you too!”

He jerked them away before she could catch them with her claws. At least he could return them to Mrs Mancini later, and save himself forty bucks. Whilst Mrs Maninci was far from fat, she wasn’t a skinny eighteen year-old gazelle either. At forty bucks a pair, he could only assume she was paying by inch.

He was wrinkling his nose, trying not to think about where Mrs Mancini got the money to support her lingerie habit, when Gypsum leaped into his arms and made a move for the panties.

“Oh no you don’t!” He held her tight and cradled her against his shoulder, tucking the silky fabric which so fascinated her under the opposite armpit.

He should probably return them straight away, before they got ruined. He shook his head at the frustrated cat.

“What are we going to do with you?” It was clearly an addiction of some kind. Perhaps he could wean her off onto socks instead. It would be far less embarrassing and his wallet wouldn’t suffer quite so badly. “One day she’s going to call the police, youknow, and then we’ll be in big—”

There was a thump on the door behind him.

He sprang away.

Then another knock, solid and heavy.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” He clutched Gypsum tighter as she wriggled, probably hoping to escape down the hall and continue her life of crime. “Doesn’t anybody text anymore?”

He hadn’t even had breakfast.

Sighing, he turned to pull back the bolt. He peered around the door, ready to slam it shut if it was Balthazar again. He’d had more than enough visitors already.

But it wasn’t Balthazar. Or Mrs Mancini.

Castiel sucked in breath.

“…Dean?”

The man Balthazar had described as a ‘leather-coated sex bomb’ was leaning against his doorframe, grinning down at him through the narrow gap.

“How… did you know where I live?”

Dean frowned. “Um. ‘Cause I dropped you off last night?” He shrugged. “While I remember, there’s some woman downstairs, said something about taking you clothes shopping. You, er, you often go shopping with middle-aged ladies?”

Castiel closed his eyes. “No, it’s, er. Long story.”

“Yeah? She one of those people who think all gay men wanna go all ‘queer-eye’?”

“Doubtful,” Castiel replied, glancing down at his tatty boxers. He _still_ hadn’t had a chance to put some clothes on. At least when Scrooge was wearing his nightcap when had to deal with his three unexpected visitors.

“So… er, you gonna let me in?”

“In?”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned and rubbed his hands together. “It’s pretty cold out here. The window in the stairwell’s broken. I can board it up for you if you’ve got any plywood; it’ll keep the cold out until you can get the glaziers out.”

“Oh.” Castiel considered, his head tilted to one side. “That’s very kind, but my landlord doesn’t need any more reasons to shirk his responsibilities. It’s Balthazar’s responsibility, though I don’t like asking him for favours.”

“Balthazar, huh?” Dean’s gaze was suddenly alert. “Your landlord.”

Castiel winced. He’d forgotten that Balthazar had been telling stories to Dean, but at least it gave him an opportunity to straighten things out.

Some things, anyway.

“Yes. _Just_ my landlord. I, er, he told me he met you the other day.” He looked down at his feet. “I should probably tell you; he’s got a bit of a strange obsession with me, he keeps trying to ask me out. It makes things very awkward. That’s why I try not to ask him to fix things, in case he tries to bargain for a date.”

“Hell, Cas. That’s bad. Why don’t you find another place?”

“I can’t afford to. He gives me a discount if I keep the stairs and halls swept and take in his deliveries.”

“Sounds like he’s abusing his position.” Dean shook his head. “Man, I cannot believe Sam’s happy for you to stay here when he’s got his fancy apartment and more money than he even needs.”

“I’m not his responsibility, and I won’t be a kept man.” Castiel drew himself up. “I’m not with Sam for his money, Dean. Please believe me.”

Dean fell silent.

“Yeah, sorry.” He dropped his head. “Didn’t mean it to come out like that. I just don’t like seeing you in such a crappy situation. So, er, you comin’ to see this car?”

Castiel blinked. “What car?”

Dean clapped his hands together. “Yeah shit. Guess I forgot to tell you that bit.” Brightening, he pushed at the door. “Let me in and I’ll tell you all about it, before I take you over to the yard.”

“Yard?” Castiel repeated, faintly, as the door swung open fully, and Dean stepped into his apartment.

Gypsum yowled and made a run for it.

Dean’s jaw dropped. His mouth opened and closed as he stared down at Castiel.

Of course.

“Sorry,” Castiel said, gesturing down at his boxers. “I was just about to get dressed. As you can see.”

“Yeah… I can see that.”

But Dean’s gaze was not on his trunks. He stared, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Castiel followed his gaze.

“Oh! No, not these!” He held out the blue panties. “No, they’re, these aren’t mine. They’re—”

He barked a laugh. This was going to sound insane whatever he said.

“It’s all right, Cas, I mean.” Dean’s cheeks had flushed scarlet. “Everyone’s got their thing, right?”

Castiel shook his head, his own cheeks burning. “They’re my neighbour’s!”

That probably didn’t sound any better.

“Your neighbour’s?”

Oh God. Dean would probably assume he meant Balthazar.

“Not Balthazar. Mrs Mancini, the lady you spoke to downstairs.”

“The one who’s taking you clothes shopping?” Dean quirked an eyebrow as, with some difficulty, he dragged his gaze back to Castiel’s face.

“Yes. Well, no. I’m not going.” Castiel stumbled. “What I mean, is, my cat—the one who ran away when you came in—she likes to steal panties, off people’s washing lines, you see, and—

“Brings them back to you, like a puppy with a paper?” Dean raised a dubious eyebrow.

“No.” He shook his head. “Well, yes. I suppose. Oh God, this is very embarrassing.” He scrubbed his fist through his hair. He didn’t notice until too late, that he was still holding the panties.

Biting his lip to suppress his amusement, Dean waved him down. “There ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, Cas. You wouldn’t be the first to like panties, shall we leave it like that?” He trailed off, still a little red-faced.

Castiel stared up at him, his mouth hanging open.

Did that mean what he thought it did?

But before he could say anything, Gypsum—the traitor—reappeared.

“Here she is, the little panty thief.” He scooped her up, rather hoping she would go for the panties and give some truth to his statement, but instead she snuggled up against his chest, unconcerned by the embarrassment she had caused.

“Can we just forget that happened?” Castiel asked, his eyes on the cat.

Dean shrugged. “Kinda hard to forget, but you’ve kept my secrets, and I’ll keep yours.”

That was about the best he could hope for, given Gypsum seemed unlikely to make a confession.

“She’s a cute little thing,” Dean said, leaning forward and chucking her under the chin. “How does she get on with the hairless monstrosity at Sam’s?”

“We, er we haven’t introduced them yet.” He led Dean further into the sitting room, thanking every deity there was that at least he’d managed to get Balthazar out of the apartment. His landlord watching porn in his cupboard would have been even harder to explain than the panties. He waved Dean to the sofa. “Avoid that end of the couch, unless you want a surprise circumcision.”

“Circumcision?” Hovering above the vicious spring, Dean paused.

Castiel cursed. That didn’t sound weird at all.

“Sharp spring,” he explained, dropping into the armchair. “Sorry, I think I’m nervous.”

“Because of the panty thing?” Dean’s grin softened as he pulled off his jacket and laid it carefully over the sofa arm. “Sorry, Cas. It was just a bit of a surprise. You don’t seem the type… then again I probably don’t either.”

Castiel barked out a laugh. Oh God. Dean had _meant_ it. He gulped, suddenly warm.

It seemed wise to change the subject.

“So you, er mentioned a car…?”

“Oh yeah.” More at ease now, Dean leaned back, his arm along the back of the couch.

Gypsum dropped down from Castiel’s lap, and leaped lightly into Dean’s knee. “Oh hello.” He petted her for a minute, seeming glad of the distraction. “So, I’ve got your engagement present.”

“Dean! You don’t have to get me—get us—an engagement present!”

This was too, too bad. At the rate this was going, he’d be publishing the bans next week. Hopefully it was a… a vase or something, even a sofa. Something they could keep at Sam’s apartment so there was never any suspicion that he was taking advantage.

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged and turned his gaze back to Gypsum. “Not from me, really. It was Ellen and Bobby, I might’ve mentioned your dodgy knee. And they thought they’d give you a car, you see.”

“A car! Dean!” Castiel was horrified. “I can’t accept that.”

“It’s fine, Cas, just a car. Not like we don’t have hundreds lying round the yard. Not,” he added, “That it’s a wreck. It’s… well they’re in decent nick. I’m saying no more.”

“Did you bring it over?” Castiel asked, at last. “We should probably leave it at Sam’s place. It’s much safer than the streets round here.”

“Uh-no.” Dean shook his head, smiling a little as Gypsum kneaded his thighs. “You happy down there kitty? Nah. It’s for _you_ Cas, the whole point is so you don’t have to take the transit to the hospital every night.”

Castiel absorbed the news in silence. This was going to be difficult to avoid.

“You… you, er can drive, can’t you?” Dean asked, when Castiel didn’t reply. “We didn’t even think about that.”

It would be so easy to lie once more.

“I’ve got my licence, but I’ve never actually driven since passing my test,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I even remember how.” He leaned forward. “Try tickling her under her ear, she likes that… Honestly, I’m fine on the transit. My knee’s not so bad any more, I can get around just fine.”

Dean sighed, but made no further protest. “I don’t see how anyone can prefer Sam’s naked wonder to this ball of fur.”

Castiel watched as he stroked Gypsum under the chin, his strong, calloused fingers strangely gentle.

“I think she likes you.”

“Yeah.” Dean chuckled as Gypsum rolled over and butted her head against his thigh. “Guess she does. I’ve never had a cat, but I can kinda see the appeal. As long as they’ve got fur…”

“She’s been a good friend to me.” Castiel leaned over to tickle her stomach, his bare arm brushing Dean’s leg. “Damn!”

He bit back a wince as his knee twisted beneath him.

“That…” Dean cleared his throat and shifted away. Gypsum miaowed a protest and jumped from his lap. “That your knee playin’ up again?”

“I’m fine, hones—”

“That’s it Cas! You’re clearly in pain, and I don’t know why you’re being so damn stubborn about this car.” He got to his feet. “Get dressed—feed the damn cat, whatever else you need to do. Then we’re going to see this car.”

Castiel shook his head, but Dean towered over him, immoveable though his gaze was somewhere over Castiel's shoulder.

“I mean it, Cas. Go and stick some clothes on. Nothin’ smart mind, the scapyard’s mucky at the best of times.”

“You didn’t bring it here?”

“No.” Dean strode to the window, peered out, and nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw. “Nah, I brought Baby. You’ve got a choice of two, you see. Bobby wasn’t sure which you’d prefer. And anyway, I didn’t want you on that transit again, not with your iron levels so low; so I said I’d pick you up.”

“I don’t know anything about cars!”

Castiel got to his feet, and stretched, before remembering his lack of clothing.

“It’s all right.” Dean froze, before picking his leather jacket off the couch and brushing it off, his ears a little reddened. “You’ll soon learn in this family.”


	23. Chapter 23

Dean pulled onto the main road, heading north, towards Bobby’s yard. Castiel sat silent beside him. At least he’d gone and put some clothes on before they set off. A pair of tight grey jeans and an old maroon hoodie, making him look like a scruffy student.

But even now, with Cas dressed and safely in the car, Dean couldn’t put those panties out of his head, and it was making things awkward every time they caught each other’s gaze, and looked quickly away again. A guy didn’t need to know what his brother got up to in the bedroom, even if it kinda mirrored his own sex life. It just… wasn’t right.

Slowly, he recovered from his embarrassment enough to update Castiel on Sam’s progress.

“I dropped in on my way to see you. That’s blonde nurse was there, Jess. She was askin’ after you,” Dean told him, heading north. “You know, she’s always in there, chattin’ to Sam. Reckon she’s got a—”

He broke off as Castiel eyed him curiously.

“Got a what?”

“Oh, ya know.” Flushing, he glanced in the rear mirror, avoiding Castiel’s gaze. Nice one, Dean. Tell the poor fiance that someone’s after his man. Though, he kinda thought she was.

He changed tack.

“Reckon she’s gotta… a vocation. That’s what they call it.”

“I think most nurses probably do.”

Nice save.

“Guess you’d need to, all that blood and bodily fluids. Yuck.” He shook his head. “I like fixing stuff that’s broken, but at least metal don’t bleed out.”

“Yes… I suppose so.”

Castiel’s voice was subdued. Too quiet. Dean glanced over, and winced.

Damn, he really was an dick, talking about blood and stuff, when the guy’s fiance was lying in that hospital. He had to remember that he wasn’t the only one who cared about Sam any more. Even Bobby and Ellen had always been secondary. He, _Dean_ , had always been the person closest to Sam, and he was finding it hard to remember someone else might care just as much as he did.

“Want the radio on?”

Castiel nodded, his face still troubled, and Dean hit the stereo button before he could put his foot in his mouth yet again.

The strains of classic rock filled the car, and his shoulders began to relax, even though they’d joined a lengthy queue, shoppers heading downtown for the sales.

“Drivin’ home for Christmas is _not_ Classic Rock,” he informed the presenter, before beeping his horn at some idiot who had obviously given up and decided to do a u-turn right in front of him.

Castiel, who had started humming along with Chris Rea, stopped abruptly.

Problem was, Dean knew he was panicking, and being stuck in Baby with Ca was not helping. It certainly wasn’t all about Sam, and it wasn’t even about the panties. Though the image of a scarlet Cas, waving them at him wasn’t one he’d forget in a hurry. It was the guy himself. Maybe it was some kinda kinship born in the horrors of the blood donation department—though if he were being entirely truthful, he was far more affected by that than Cas—but he’d shared things last night that he hadn’t told _anyone_.

He took a left turn, sighing when he saw the queues stretching out ahead.

It was probably the blood loss. Stood to reason anything that could make a man faint was gonna addle his brains a bit too.

He’d done enough therapy to know that usually, after revealing far too much about himself to someone, he retreated, licking his wounds in private, dreading the pity in their eyes. But this morning, all Ellen had had to say was ‘should we phone and see if Castiel wants to choose his car?’ and Dean was up volunteering to pick the guy up and ship him uptown like some fairy princess that needed a carriage.

Castiel remained silent and brooding, beside him.

Everything had happened so fast, he hadn’t really had time to process it yet. Arriving home to this mysterious fiance. Learning Sam was battin’ for both sides. Meeting Cas. And what was Sam even doing with Cas? Sam liked women. Liked the small, light, feminine type that fitted under his arm. Not, of course, that many women could reach Sam’s height. And Sam _really_ liked long hair he could run his fingers through, as he’d once told Dean when in one of his over-sharing moods. Dean grunted. Probably why he’d grown his own mane so ridiculously long. Gave him somethin’ to fiddle with when he hadn’t got a girlfriend.

He cast a quick glance at Cas. Cas, sitting demurely in the seat beside him, his hands folded into his lap, his eyes on the horizon, his brow marked with a deep frown. Cas with the… the _bed hair_. Sure, you wanted to run your fingers through it, though whether to smooth it down or mess it up even more, Dean hadn’t quite decided. But it wasn’t long.

Castiel wasn’t Sam’s type at _all_.

He was dorky, and awkward, and liked _cats._ He definitely didn’t have boobs, and that was something Sam was usually pretty keen on. That Ruby bitch had been going for a boob job and Sam was gonna _pay_ for it. He knew his Vonnegut—and okay, so Dean was the dumb one here, but he could still read, so shoot him. Not even Sam read Vonnegut. He was modest, and funny, in a dry kinda way. And he didn’t make Dean feel stupid.

“Where exactly is the garage?” Castiel broke in, and his thoughts screamed to a break.

He side-eyed him. “Sam never mentioned it?”

Cas shook his head, looking ridiculously young and vulnerable as he scrubbed his fist through his hair, making his bed-head exponentially worse.

Maybe Sam had just realised that someone needed to look after Cas. The guy was pretty shit at looking after himself. Any idiot could see he was still struggling with his knee, however much he tried to hide it. And God knows what Sam was thinking leaving him in that freezing apartment with that sleazy landlord sliming all over the place.

Cas slumped a little in his seat. “No… I—it all happened so fast.”

Dean nodded distractedly as he pulled off the main stretch and headed for the suburb where Bobby’s first junkyard now took up an entire block. He still hadn’t got to the bottom of how Sam and Castiel had met and got engaged. Maybe it had started out as just sex, his brother had taste, he’d give him that. But then why the rapid engagement?

Rebound from Ruby?

If it had been Ruby herself he’d have been wondering how, exactly, she’d tricked Sam into marriage. But this was Castiel, and this naive, slightly awkward guy, nestled into the bench seat, his hair ruffled like a flustered chick, was about as far from her Royal Hellness as it was possible to be,

He sighed again.

Clearly Sam just had the sense to know a good thing when he saw it.


	24. Chapter 24

“What type of car are we talking about?” Castiel wondered, as they headed deeper into a suburb that probably used to be a bit rough, but was clearly on the up. If this was where Bobby had his garage, it would be worth a fair bit now. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting anything expensive.”

“You’re Sam’s fiance. That makes you family now.”

“Dean! I haven’t driven in years. I’ll probably reverse it into a trash can or something.” He shook his head. “It’s a big decision and a big responsibility. Maybe we should wait until Sam’s better.”

If he was forced to accept the car, not only would that _not_ look good when the truth came out, but he’d also have to insure and tax it, and he just didn’t have the cash.

Dean glanced over at him. “Let’s just take a look, all right? See what you think. Worst comes to the worst I can always give you a few driving lessons before you, er, head out on the highway.”

“Looking for adventure?” Castiel asked, with added finger quotes.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, dude? Yeah. If you want. The driving lessons that is. Reckon the adventure will be Sam’s job.”

“I’ve been waiting all my life for a road trip,” he said, wistfully, crushing down a pang at the reminder. The deception was always easiest when he was out and about with Dean, only to be pulled back to reality whenever Dean mentioned Sam, his ghost, silent and accusing, between them.

“Yeah, well. Sam’s pretty loaded, so reckon you’ll be flying first class, not that that makes it any better. But you’ll get to travel, man.”

“You don’t like flying?”

“Nah.” Dean swung the Impala down a smaller road, the muscles in his forearm straining as he gripped the steering wheel. The Impala would have pre-dated power steering. Dean patted the dashboard. “I prefer Baby. It’s an upside of the restoration work—I get to drive Baby over to Pittsburgh, or Kansas City, check out some old beaten up classic, decide if it’s worth redeeming, work out the costs. Then either get it delivered or even go over in the truck myself. I’ll often look at a few and then decide when I get back to Chicago.” He slowed, then signalled left, as they came up to a wide metal gate. “Here we go.”

“This is it?” Castiel took a look around, as Dean stopped the car and jumped out to open the gate, ignoring Castiel’s offer.

The garage—it was more a garage than a junk yard, however it might have started out—took up over a block, on the edge of the suburb, where the houses gave way to block-like supermarkets and DIY stores.

A barbed wire fence ran between the yard and the sidewalk, but within the fence he could see faded garage doors, with some kind of office, maybe even an apartment, above. Scattered across the muddy forecourt immediately beyond the gates were a couple of old Shell signs and a gas pump, circa 1960 or thereabouts. It was all very retro, except obviously genuine.

Dean ducked back in the car and drove them into the yard, leaving the gates open behind them. “I’ll just pull up here, then we can have a look round. No one’s working today, but keep an eye out anyway, there’s a load of junk lying around and I don’t want to have to tell Sam that you knocked yourself out on an old wreck.”

They parked up in front of the tired-looking building that was probably the original garage. Steps ran above the doors, to a smaller, domestic door, leading to the second storey. Dean followed his gaze.

“That was Bobby’s place, when he first had the yard. Home for me an’ Sam too. Hard to believe now, seeing the place he’s got with Ellen.”

Although he was supposedly occupied with locking Baby, Castiel had the distinct impression Dean was waiting for a reaction. Perhaps wondering how Castiel would take the reality of Sam’s upbringing. Though anyone who’d seen Castiel’s dump of an apartment shouldn’t have been expecting any snobbery from _him_.

“It must have been an exciting place for two small boys,” Castiel said, leaning on the open door and avoiding putting too much weight on his bad knee, as Dean came round to lock up his side, trapping him between the car and door. “The only thing that surprises me is that you didn’t _both_ become mechanics.”

Dean blinked down at him. Then he quirked a smile.

“Yeah, well Sam never had much taste. Except in men…”

His eyes widened comically and he grimaced, his whole face flushing red.

Trapped between Dean and the car, Castiel froze.

What on earth was he supposed to say?

“Ah fuck. Forget I said that.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and gave a dry chuckle. “Funnily enough, if Sam was awake, I’d probably be flirtin’ with you just to piss him off, but, yeah. I can’t help myself apparently.”

Castiel searched wildly for something to salvage the situation.

“Sam may not be a mechanic, but you and your brother have one thing in common…”

Dean glanced up through his lashes. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

God, he was adorable. For a moment Castiel was struck by an alternative reality, one in which he and _Dean_ had met, rather than him and Sam.

But Dean’s green gaze had turned curious, waiting for an answer.

“You’re both _very_ charming,” Castiel said, lightly. He slammed the door shut behind him and slipped out, beyond Dean’s reach. Not of course that he was stupid enough to think a silly absent-minded flirtation actually meant anything, and he _certainly_ didn’t think Dean was going to make a move. It was just… awkward. “So, tell me about the garage. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting anything quite so substantial.”

After a frozen moment, Dean seemed to jerk awake. Turning his back, he carefully locked the final door, before facing Castiel once more, his cheeks still painfully red.

“It started off small, but Bobby knows his stuff. He reads up on business management and all sorts, practically had a whole library in there. He bought the neighbouring lot when it came up for sale, and expanded bit by bit.” He pointed up, towards the stairs. “See those stairs. That’s the flat where we lived, me, Sam and Bobby. Aren’t many men who’d just take in someone else’s kids like that, but he did.”

“He seems like a wonderful man.”

“I owe him a lot,” Dean said, gazing up at his old home, his smile fond. “And that’s why it’s difficult to turn him down when he wants to retire and leave me the garage. He was married once, but she died of cancer. Sam and me’s the nearest thing to family he had, until he married Ellen, and that was only a few years ago. And he doesn’t have any kids of his own.”

Together they stared up at the old building. The cream coloured paint was tired and peeling, but it was well-made, like everything on the forecourt.

“He obviously loves you,” Castiel tried. “Would he really want you to take the garage on, if it will make you so unhappy? Have you ever tried talking to him about it?”

He got the impression Dean was not usually one to talk about his feelings. The slight awkwardness when Dean had arrived that morning, given what they’d shared the night before, had given him the tip off, and he’d decided to keep the conversation on a casual line.

So much for that idea.

“I don’t wanna try,” Dean said at last, then rubbed his hands together, stamping his feet in a pantomime of cold. “Come on, let’s look at these cars before we freeze to death.”


	25. Chapter 25

Dean led him around the side of the forecourt, past some modern saloons and SUVs, mostly a few years old, and towards a covered area. In pride of place was a low slung dark green car, single door, with a coupe back and a wide, flat grille.

“So, uh. Yeah. Not as good as Baby, obviously. But pretty decent.” Dean stepped back and gestured to the car with an awkward flourish. “She’s a 1968 Chevrolet Camaro. I prefer the 1970 second generation myself, they have these big, circular headlamps, and this really angular grille in the middle. It’s got more personality, if you ask me. But this one’s not bad.”

Castiel stared. Surely Dean didn’t mean that _this_ was the car they wanted him to take? It looked like something from a Bond film, and he dreaded to think how much it was worth.

So he stalled.

“She’s beautiful! Did you restore this one, too?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh. Bobby did some of the work on the chassis when I was out of town, but I did most of it.” He leaned past and rubbed at an invisible mark on the door. “And I came in to give her a quick polish this morning. She’s got grubby from all the slush.”

Castiel walked around the back, admiring its sleek lines, and the almost comical tail fin.

“Here look.” Dean fumbled in his pocket and followed him to the rear. “I’ve got a few pictures of what she looked like when I picked her up in Kansas.”

He stepped back as Castiel crowded eagerly into his space, leaning over his arm to take a look.

“Here, you, uh, take the phone.”

Left with Dean’s phone, Castiel flicked through a series of pictures chronicling the Camaro’s transformation from junkyard rust to the shining restoration in front of him. Bobby must have taken some of the pictures, for Dean was in some of them, in his overalls, the top rolled down to his hips, lying underneath the car, or in one, memorable picture, bending over to inspect the engine.

He swallowed, and returned the phone, fumbling it as he handed it over.

“Dean. It’s incredible! You wouldn’t believe it was the same car.” He glanced at the car, longing to run his hands over the paintwork, but not quite daring to. “Does she… work? I mean, is she drivable?”

“Bobby wouldn’t have her for sale if she didn’t. She’s a gas guzzler though.”

“You’re _really_ good at this.” Castiel smiled up at him. “It’s amazing.”

Dean flushed. “Well it’s not an authentic restoration, we couldn’t get hold of the original wing mirrors or bonnet, so they’re from a 1970 model, so, you know, wrong generation. And I had to salvage the interior leather from a Chevy I found in the junkyard. She’s far from mint condition and not worth anywherenear as much as you’d think. You can’t ask full market price when you’ve taken short-cuts. I don’t like doing it, it feels wrong, somehow, not to have everything just right, but Bobby would rather get them restored quickly and out on the forecourt.”

Castiel considered him, his head tilted to one side. “But you’re a perfectionist.”

“Yeah, well she’s far from perfect.” Dean turned and unlocked the nearest door, his pale skin flaming, as Castiel had noticed it always did when he was praised. “Take a look inside.”

Taking his time, Castiel finally smoothing an admiring hand over the paintwork, studying the anachronistic wing mirrors with interest, if not understanding, before glancing at Dean for permission.

Dean nodded. “Get in there. Knock yourself out.”

“I thought you specifically said _not_ to knock myself out in the garage.” He leaned in. The leather was soft and supple under his fingers. “I don’t care if it’s the ‘wrong leather’. It’s still beautiful. Did you have to sew it together, to make it fit?”

Dean frowned, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s not like I sewed myself a frilly skirt. It’s tough, getting a needle through leather.”

Castiel squinted at him.

“I can imagine. I’m more of a knitter myself, though it usually ends with Gypsum chasing the balls of wool around my apartment.”

“A knitter?” Dean raised an eyebrow, apparently unsure how to react to that information. “You mean you knit _jumpers_ and shit?”

“When I can afford the wool. It’s my winter hobby.”

“Your hobbies are _seasonal_? What do—” Dean shook his head. “What do you do in the summer?”

“Photography. Another expensive hobby.” Castiel glanced at the Chevrolet, and then over to Dean’s black Impala. “You know, I’d love to take some pictures, you could use them on your website when you set up your restoration business.”

Bobby’s pictures were adequate for a personal record, but not good enough for advertising.

For a second, Dean’s eyes lit up, but then they dimmed. “Like that’s gonna happen.” He changed the subject. “You ever driven a manual gearbox before?”

“Er, no? Is it very different?”

“Oh Jesus.” Dean shook his head. “Just a bit, man. Never mind, I can give you a few lessons, make sure you’re safe to go. Now get in there, have a feel.”

Castiel slid into the driver’s seat. It really was beautiful. The steering wheel seemed to be made of wood, and another panel of wood ran across the whole dashboard. Between the two front seats was another panelled console, and a shiny silver ball he took to be the gear-lever. He ran his hand over it, flinching as his palm encountered cold metal. It was a good shape though, fitting perfectly into his palm.

“It feels weird having a knob in my hand.”

In the doorway, Dean choked. “Yeah, that’s not what I heard…”

“Gay jokes, really?” Castiel smiled up at him. “Though I suppose I did set myself up for that one.”

“Do you like it? The car, I mean, not the crappy joke. This is one of the car’s I thought—well, Bobby and I thought might suit you.”

Castiel bit his lip. It was very tempting, a beautiful car for all the negatives Dean had listed. But he couldn’t possibly accept, not even for a test drive. Knowing his luck, he would write it off. Playing for time, he peered at the monochrome dials, then, as Dean waited by the door, he twisted to look behind him, at the back seat.

“It only has seatbelts in the front?”

“Car this age, lucky to have ‘em at all.” Dean leant over him, smelling faintly of oil and leather, to point out the fittings. “We retrofitted them. It kinda wrecks the interior, and it’s not always possible, but Sam’s paranoid about the legal cases if someone got thrown through the window on one of our cars so we usually fit ‘em unless someone asks us not to.”

Castiel nodded, admiring the bench seat at the back. “There aren’t any back there though.”

“It’s not possible to fix carseats in the back of a coupe like this, you can see on the post there that there’s no space for a bracket, and with a bench seat, you’d have to destroy the seat.” He shrugged and pulled back. “Most o’ the folk in the market for this kinda thing have a family car as well, something to take the kids to soccer practice. They keep the classics for Sunday driving. It’s a waste if you ask me. But there you go.”

Castiel saw his opening.

“Ah, well. I don’t _have_ another car .” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So that wouldn’t work. Look, Dean. These are beautiful…” He shook his head, pushing down the temptation. “Really, _really_ beautiful. But maybe we should wait until Sam’s awake. We’d have to discuss this between us, figure out what to do. We’d want something future proof…”

He trailed off, leaving it open to interpretation.

“Oh, you mean…” Dean flushed, and bit his lip. “You mean, you an’ Sam? Yeah. Well, I guess you’re getting married. Shouldn’t have been a surprise. Just… didn’t expect you to be thinking about that already I guess.”

“Well nothing’s—”

But Dean was already stepping back from the car. He scrubbed his fist through his hair. “Right, yes. Well obviously this is out of the question.” He scanned the surrounding vehicles. “Maybe the Opal over there. Not as pretty, but practical. It’s an automatic too, so you wouldn’t have to waste your time on driving lessons with me.”

“Dean, you don’t have to—we should just wait until Sam’s awake. Discuss this sensibly.”

“That’s no good.” Dean strode across the forecourt. “You need something to get you to the hospital and back, save your knee and stop you passing out on the transit. It was a stupid idea. Bobby suggested a modern runaround, but I thought you’d—you admired Baby, so I thought you’d like— But yeah, not so practical I guess.”

Castiel scrambled out of the car, twisting his knee in the process, and limped after him. Somehow this had gone very wrong.

“Can’t we just wait for— Surely Bobby didn’t expect me to just pick _any_ car in his garage.”

“Dude, Bobby told me to get you a car. I’m getting you a car. It’s my fault, I should have thought, shouldn’t have suggested the Camaro.” Dean’s shoulder were set and stiff. Castiel followed him unhappily, as he wandered from car to car, reeling off a list of advantages, before explaining why they wouldn’t suit.

“This is the one Bobby suggested. It’s got an automatic gearbox, and uh, “ he flushed again and pulled out a set of keys. “It’s got isofix, so that’s good.”

“Isofix?”

Dean opened the rear door and pointing to some weird hoops on the back seats.

“You attach the baby seat to them, and it’s safer than just a seatbelt. The, er, baby-seat safety ratings are based on a crash using isofix where available, so you’d definitely be looking for that feature. Easier than one of the bases you can get —those don’t work if you have under floor storage too.”

It was strange to see Dean switch to what was clearly his professional persona.

“You know a lot about this.” Castiel fiddled with his coat sleeve as Dean withdrew from the backseat, and stood next to him.

“Not good for much, but I _am_ a mechanic. Most cars we get are modern, and well, I had a girlfriend who had a kid once, so I know my way around a car seat.”

Castiel absorbed this information in silence. It sounded like a long term relationship if he’d met her kid, people didn’t usually do that until things were getting serious. According to Gabriel anyway. He’d had this girlfriend, Kali, who had a kid, but she didn’t Gabriel to meet them. Probably sensible, knowing Gabriel.

“Not _your_ kid?”

“God no. Ben’s a great kid, wasn’t mine though.” But Dean’s smile was wistful as he took a last look at the back seat, before heading round to the trunk.

Following him, Castiel changed the subject. Perhaps Dean was upset at the thought of Sam having a child, when he clearly missed Ben. “So you’re saying this car’s more family friendly?”

“Reckon you can get a pushchair in the trunk, not a massive one, but something fairly compact. At least Sam’s place has got an elevator, wouldn’t want to haul a kid up your staircase.” He paused. “I guess you’ll be moving into Sam’s after the wedding.”

“Er, yes. I suppose so,” Castiel said blankly.

“Sweet” But Dean didn’t seem to be paying attention as he scanned the nearby vehicles. “There’s an imported Toyota over there, very reliable, and we’ve got a couple of Fords which might suit. You know what, why don’t you take a look around, I’m just gonna— gonna, you know. Check in the office. Probably got some, er, emails or something.”

Before Castiel could say anything, he stalked towards the old garage building, leaving Castiel, alone on the forecourt, staring after him.

What on earth was that about?

When Dean disappeared into the office, there was nothing left to do but take up his suggestion, and wander around the ‘for sale’ lot. At least if there were a few different cars he seemed to be showing interest in, he could hopefully stall on making the actual decision.

Still frowning he wandered around the lot, immediately dismissing the SUVs as far too expensive, and the fuel consumption would be something akin to a NASA shuttle. Not, he reminded himself, as he shook his head at a Jeep, that he was actually going to _get_ one of these cars.

He avoided anything that looked too expensive, or new, and headed towards the back, where the older cars seemed to be gathered. There were a couple of what looked like partial restorations, alongside a couple of late 1990s saloons that looked like they wouldn’t be _too_ expensive.

And—

He stopped.

Parked out of the way, partially raised on a jack, was the car of his dreams.

Literally, of his dreams.

He couldn’t remember what it was called, but he recognised it. He’d had a picture of one, stuck in the road atlas when he and his dad had planned their road trip. Obviously he’d found a picture as a kid, and pasted it in, as if a picture would make it more likely to happen. But it was the same car. It would have been something special back then, new and exciting.

A boxy design, the colour a sort of dull gold. He’d always imagined it was the sort of car a President would ride in. Comfortable and spacious. Imposing.

Smiling, his hands in his pockets, he stood back to admire it.

“Oh,” came a voice by his ear. “I see you’ve found the Pimpmobile.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last Monday - I had a never-ending migraine. Hopefully this longer chapter makes up for it. As usual, it hasn't been edited or betaed. Do point out any mistakes, I'm not sure I'm with it enough to notice.

“The ‘Pimpmobile’?” Castiel turned, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, technically it’s a 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V’,” Dean replied, giving the golden car a pat. “But I call it the ‘Pimpmobile’”.

His head titled to one side, Castiel considered the car. It was a good, solid family car. Luxurious even.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it called the ‘Pimpmobile?’” There had been some TV programme years back but he’d never got round to seeing it. “I never actually watched that ‘Pimp my Ride’, it always clashed with David Attenborough’s ‘Blue Planet’. That’s a wildlife documentary,” Castiel clarified, as Dean frowned. “Does that mean the owner lends it out to different people, like a pimp, ah, rents out their women?”

Dean shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Some idea of a ‘wildlife’ you’ve there. No, man, it’s ‘pimped up’ like, a, a pimp’s car, you know…? The kinda car a pimp would think it was cool to _drive_?”

“A pimp?”

“Yeah. Or a drug dealer. Like, blingy, you know? Gold paint, low ride. That’s just what people call ‘em. It’s been here for ever. Bobby only let me cut my teeth on it for a joke.”

“I like it.”

“Seriously?” Dean spluttered, then covered it up with a cough. “It doesn’t really go with you, with your coat.” He gestured at Castiel’s trench.

Blinking Castiel held out both arms and laid one trench-coated arm against the bonnet.

“It matches my coat perfectly.”

“Yep, and that’s about the best that can be said for it.” Dean shook his head. “What I mean, is, you don’t look like a pimp, man.”

Castiel took a step back.

“Thank you?”

Pimp hadn’t exactly been the look he was going for, if he’d been going for any kind of aesthetic at all. He turned his gaze back to the Lincoln.

“It’s beautiful.” His voice was reverential, _too_ reverential. It might give Dean ideas.

“Beautiful?” Dean had stepped back, his brow furrowed. “You think _this_ , this piece of—you think _this_ is beautiful?”

Castiel shrugged. What wasn’t there to like?

“It’s a beautiful restoration.”

“As I said, an early one.” Dean walked round to the hood, and propped it up with a clang. “You _really_ like it?”

“It reminds me of my childhood.” Castiel shook his head, answering Dean’s unspoken question. “We didn’t have one, couldn't have afforded it.” He ran his hand along the Lincoln’s glossy flank. “I told you about the road trips my dad and I used to plan? Well I used to draw out the routes, and list the towns we might visit, and make a kind of—kind of scrapbook in the atlas.”

Dean nodded, his green gaze suddenly soft.

“One day I found a picture of this, the Lincoln, car, in a magazine, and I cut it out and added it to the atlas. I could just see us cruising the highway together. It’s big enough to sleep in the back, so it would save money on motels.”

“You had it all planned out, huh?”

Castiel shrugged and wandered around to peer over Dean’s shoulder. Together they looked down at the open hood. It was a jumble of pipes and… valves maybe? Dean seemed to be satisfied with what they were seeing. And it certainly seemed clean for an engine, but that was about as far as his knowledge of cars would take him.

He changed the subject swiftly. “So… this was your first restoration?”

Dean’s face lit up as he leaned in to check the oil, before wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “Yeah. Did it all myself, buying in parts as they became available, or scavenging the scrap heap. There was another old Lincoln, an absolute wreck, so I was able to take parts from that, keep the costs down. I didn’t have much spare time to work on her, and then I had to restore Baby, so she’s taken a bit of a back seat over the last year or so. There’s a couple of bits I’m still waiting for, pretty rare, so I keep an eye out and I’ll fit them as they come in. I’m bidding for a hub cap on eBay but I’m still waiting for a right wing mirror to come up.” He patted the left wing mirror. “Hang on a sec, I’ll grab the keys from the office, and I can show you the interior.”

Castiel watched as he strode off across the forecourt, as pleased as a small boy showing off his first Dinky car. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he stood back to admire the car once more. She really was expertly restored—at least as far as _he_ could tell—and aside from the bidding hub cap and the right wing mirror, she seemed perfect.

He wondered if she was roadworthy.

Dean returned just then, the keys jangling from his hand. “You look cold. Let’s get inside, out of the wind.” He walked to Castiel’s side first, unlocking the driver’s door and opening the door, before heading around the front to unlock the passenger side.

Castiel slipped inside, bouncing on the cushioned seat pads, and Dean joined him a second later, lowering himself into the passenger seat.

“The interior’s plush velour champagne, matches the Jubilee gold on the outside. Only a few thousand of these were ever produced.”

“This is very comfortable.”

“Right?”

Dean pointed out the front seatbelts, and the new battery and steering wheel he had salvaged from the older wreck. Castiel sat in silence as he talked, his enthusiasm bubbling over, for all that from his comments, Dean didn’t seem to actually _like_ the Lincoln. Dean was usually quite taciturn, grumpy almost, but in the garage, talking about cars, he seemed to come alive.

“This is clearly your passion.”

“What?” Dean stopped, the flood of information arrested on his tongue. “Well yeah. Always has been.”

“And Bobby won’t let you start up a side business?”

“Bobby needs me here.” Dean sighed and rubbed his first through his hair. “That sign outside? Used to be ‘Singer and Sons’. Then Sam up and went to law school, and I painted the ’s’ off. Bobby needs me now, more than ever. I won’t paint out the ‘son’, not when he’s been the closest thing to a proper father we’ve ever had.”

Castiel nodded, and leaned forward to inspect the dashboard. “Have you… asked him? Properly?”

“Cas.” Dean shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Even if it’d make you happy?”

“It’d make him _un_ happy.”

Castiel regarded him in silence. “You won’t know unless you ask him. If it’s a side business, you wouldn’t need to paint out any names. You could cost it up, see whether you’d make better margins through restoration or repair work.”

Jimmy had got him to revise business 101, reading out the questions over the phone, all the definitions written out on coloured flash cards. It’d been excruciatingly boring, but it had taken his mind off the long winter evenings, waiting for his father to die.

“Someone made you Warren Buffet, huh?”

“Hardly.” Flushing, Castiel pushed open the door, and got to his feet. “I just picked up some business vocabulary when my brother was studying his accountancy exams.”

“Well I was gonna say Donald Trump, but I guessed you wouldn’t take it as a compliment.” Dean got to his feet. “So, whaddya think then?”

“About our esteemed President?” he teased. “Or the Lincoln?”

Dean nodded, his ear tips a little pink, either from cold, or embarrassment, Castiel wasn’t sure. It was strange how Dean seemed to be looking to him for approval, and it warmed him in a manner he wasn’t entirely sure it should. If Dean wanted his approval, was that because of _him_ , Castiel himself, or due only to his newfound, and entirely spurious, position of prospective brother in law? Or was it merely because Castiel had shown genuine interest in his career plans.

Not for the first time since all this had started, he wondered how, exactly, Sam supported his brother.

“She’s truly wonderful, Dean.”

The naked honesty in Castiel’s voice set Dean flushing and fumbling with the keys, but he recovered quickly.

“She, huh? Okay… “ Dean gazed into the middle distance, his lips pursed, before he set his shoulders and turned back to Castiel. “You know how to treat a lady?”

“I’m gay, Dean,” Castiel said, blinking at the sudden change of subject. “It doesn’t mean I don’t like or respect women. In fact, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community I feel I have an innate understanding of the structural imbalances in our society which have an adverse and disproportionately negative impact on—”

But Dean waved him down. “Nah. Not what I meant. I was askin’ how you would treat _this_ lady?” He patted the Lincoln.

“Oh,” said Castiel, as understanding began to dawn. “Well…” he temporised, still not one hundred percent sure what he was being asked. “I love her.”

Dean straightened. “Right well, that’ll do me, though God knows what you see in her. The working parts are good. The exterior’s almost there, but as I said I’m still waiting for some parts. It’s gonna be at least a month though, I don’t know if you can wait that long?”

At least a month sounded perfect.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking a valuable car, Dean.”

Classic cars were always valuable, weren’t they? Especially ones as beautiful as the Lincoln. And thank heavens he’d never actually have to fill her up.

“She’s gonna cost you a fortune in gas,” Dean said, confirming his suspicions. “But she aint valuable. Worth less than that modern Toyota we were looking at earlier. We got her for nothing, ‘cos some idiot ran outta petrol and dumped her on the side of the road. We got the tow call from the Highway Patrol, and no one ever claimed her. I worked on her in my own free time, under Bobby’s supervision, and most the parts came from scrap. She can be my engagement present to you; Bobby and Ellen’ll have to get you a blender or something.” He trailed off. “So, er, don’t worry about all that, if you like her…”

“I do. Very much.” Castiel walked to the other side, admiring the wing. “She’s such a beautiful colour.”

“It’s called jubilee gold.”

He peered into the rear seats. “She’s got rear seatbelts too!”

“Er, yeah. A previous restorer must have done that. Would have been worth more if he’d left it alone. No serious collector would take it.”

Castiel nodded, relieved he hadn’t inadvertantly chosen anything too expensive. Not that he’d ever actually drive her of course; it was the look of the thing.

“Did you restore Baby in your free time too?”

Dean stiffened as he lowered the hood. “Sam didn’t tell you that?”

Castiel shook his head, casting around for a way out. It looked like he’d put his foot in it again.

“You know Sam,” he said weakly. “He isn’t a big fan of cars.”

Dean’s stance softened and, to Castiel’s relief, he huffed out a breath. “You’re right there. Says Baby’s too much of a gas guzzler. I think he’s just jealous though.”

“Jealous?”

The hood clanged closed. “Dad always said Baby’d be mine one day. Guess he just didn’t realise how soon that’d be.”

Castiel glanced over. Dean was staring straight ahead, his lip caught between his teeth as he wiped greasy hands on his shirt. There was clearly history here. He wanted to know more, even though he shouldn’t. The most he asked, the greater the ultimate betrayal. And yet… Dean fascinated him. He could admit that. A man who seemed to care for everyone around him, who was clearly loved by his hodgepodge family. A man who read Vonnegut, but seemed happiest talking about cars. He wanted to know more.

He wanted to know _everything_.

Swallowing, he turned to inspect the door handles, unable to meet Dean’s gaze.

“Suppose someone’s gotta tell you.” Dean shook his head. “But not here. Let’s head over to Sam’s place, make sure that nightmare of a cat gets fed. Though I imagine it usually dines on ghouls and the tortured souls of dead mailmen.”

“Dead mailmen?”

“Whatever.” Dean shrugged. “There’s a family sunday lunch later, Ellen asked me to invite you along. You can say, if you’ve had enough of the Winchester clan by now. I know we can be a bit much.”

“No, no. It’s fine!”

He should have said no, but instead there he was, forcing himself into a closer and closer relationship. And he’d obviously sounded rather too enthusiastic, for Dean eyed him suspiciously.

“I love your family.” Castiel swallowed. “I’ve never been part of a family before.”

Dean’s gaze softened. “And of all the families to land in, you land in ours.” He shook his head as he locked up the Lincoln. “We can come back for this another time. You’ll have to learn to drive it first, though.”

“Isn’t it an automatic?”

“You didn’t notice the gear stick?” Dean lead him over to the Impala. “No. None of these generation are.” He hesitated, the Impala’s keys in his hands. “I can still, we can still do those lessons, if you want. I know you’ve probably got better things to do….”

“Dean.” Castiel waited until Dean had stopped. “I want. To learn, that is,” he finished quickly. “If you’ve got time to teach me.”

Dean unlocked the driver’s door, and then, to Castiel’s surprise, went round to the passenger side, and unlocked that, before slipping inside. He leaned across the bench seat and shook the keys in front of Castiel.

“I got all the time in the world.”


	27. Chapter 27

They spent the rest of the morning at the hospital, although Castiel refused to drive the Impala there, throwing the keys back to Dean and shaking his head. The ice-covered streets were busy and he didn’t trust himself to handle a manual gear shift, especially in Dean’s pride and joy. Still, he enjoyed watching Dean’s obvious pleasure in handling the Impala, his hands confidently curled around the steering wheel as he grinned over at Castiel from time to time.

Arriving in the neurology ward side by side, they bumped into Jess coming out of Sam’s room, pushing a medication trolley familiar to Castiel from his days at his father’s bedside.

“How’s he doing today?” Dean stepped forward eagerly, his eyes scanning the room, over Jess’ shoulder.

“Hello Dean. Castiel.” Smiling, she waved them though. “He’s looking good. I’ll just hand this trolley over to Nurse Taylor and then I’ll come and update you.”

“You hear that, Cas?” Dean turned towards him, grinning. “He’s looking good.”

“I imagine Sam always looks good,” Castiel observed, following Dean into Sam’s room and standing by his bed. “But he definitely looks better.”

Sam’s skin, which had been waxen, now held a healthy glow despite the remaining bruising around his temple. His breathing was deep and even, and the room was cheery with flower-filled vases. Castiel’s own flowers were still alive—just—but the bouquets from the family made up for them.

“It’s okay, you can go ahead and kiss him, or whatever. Don’t mind me.”

“No, it’s… ah, it’s fine.” Flushing, Castiel stepped back from the bed. “Jess said that it was very important we speak to Sam, he may well be able to hear us.”

“Right then.” Dean tugged forward a second chair. “What we gonna tell him? You start.”

“Me?” Castiel paused. “I think he’s heard plenty from me. You should tell him about the Lincoln.”

“Sit down then.” Dean nudged the chair under his legs and pulled Castiel into place by the elbow of his trench jacket. “Okay Sam, sounds like Cas has given me the floor. Nice surprise that, by the way. Couldn’t have mentioned it earlier, I suppose?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh, you mighta heard us having a bit of an argument the other day, but we’ve uh, I think we’ve got over that now…” He glanced over, uncertain.

Castiel nodded. “It’s fine, Sam. Your brother and I are getting on fine. More than fine. He’s been helping me–”

“Found him a car. Offered him A Chevrolet Camaro but Castiel here went for the Pimpmobile. So, uh, sorry about that.”

“It’s a beautiful car, Dean,” Castiel chastised. “And I’m honoured that you would offer me the first vehicle you ever restored.”

“It’s nothin’.” Dean’s cheeks were flushed. “Anyway, so Cas is gonna come over to Ellen and Bobby’s for Sunday lunch. Jo’s gonna be there, maybe Charlie too if she can swap shifts. She gets lonely this time of year.”

“Well this handsome chap’s never lonely,” announce a fresh voice, and they turned round as Jess swiped the chart from the end of Sam’s bed and flipped up the pages. “He’s had lots of visitors this morning. Ellen came around breakfast time, and then we had that English man again, the short one, with the beard.”

“Crowley?” Dean’s eyes widened. “Crowley was here?”

“Sam’s old friend from Stanford? He was here the day after the accident too,” Castiel confirmed, getting to his feet, ready to escape to the bathrooms if Jess started reading out Sam’s personal information. “He brought Sam’s effects over from the office.”

“His effects, like he’d died or something?”

“I think he was just trying to help. He seemed nice, if a little sarcastic.”

“He’s the one that introduced Sam to Ruby,” Dean grumbled. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

Castiel dropped back into his chair.

“Seriously?”

But before Dean could say anything, Jess had squeezed between the visitors’ chairs and Sam’s bedside. “I’m about to start Sam’s physical therapy. Would you like to help?”

“Why’s he need PT?” Dean asked, with a frown. “I thought it was just his head.”

“It’s mainly his head,” Jess explained. “But whilst he’s unconscious his muscles will be wasting away. We want to keep him as fit and strong as we can. He has PT every day, and even once he’s woken up, he’ll need to carry on for a while. Luckily I’m trained in rehabilitation as well, so I can follow up with him after he’s discharged.”

Strong fingers gripped Castiel’s elbow, as Dean asked, “You think he’s gonna wake up then?”

“That’s what I was about to tell you. He’s doing _very_ well, the swelling has almost gone and we’re going to wake him up in two days, New Year’s Day in fact.” Jess turned to Sam, her blonde ponytail swinging. “Hey Sam, it’s PT time. D’you want your lovely fiance to assist? He’ll be able to help you when you’re home as well.”

“Oh no,” Castiel blurted, scooting his chair back with a screech. “I’m not very good at these sorts of things.” He flushed under Dean’s bewildered gaze. “I can help with anything else though, tidying up the room or something.”

“I’ll help.” Dean got to his feet. “Show me what to do. I’m a mechanic, it can’t be all that different from a car engine.”

Jess chuckled. “This is more like an oil change, really. In fact if you move his arms like this…” She demonstrated expertly. “Then that will get the synovial fluid in his joints flowing.”

“Just like an engine.”

Dean watched as Jess showed him some other movements to work through, explaining the reasoning behind each exercise, and bamboozling them both with anatomy terms. Castiel watched from his new position by the door, loathe to leave, but certain he shouldn’t be getting involved. That _had_ to be a consent issue.

“Sure you don’t want to help?” Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder, his t-shirt rucking up as he lifted his arms—and Sam’s—high above the bed.

Castiel let out a pained sigh.

“Is your knee still playing up?” Jess asked, with a sympathetic smile. “I hope you didn’t come on the transit again, there are far too many stairs to contend with.”

“He came with me.” Dean folded Sam’s arm back down to the bed, his large mechanic’s hands strangely gentle. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“That’s good to hear. And are the rest of the family okay with the whole situation now, Castiel and Sam, I mean?”

“Yeah. No trouble there.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. “And Cas is a darn sight better than his predecessor, let me tell you.”

“I’ll go and get the apparatus for his bed bath,” Jess announced. “You can just do the same movement with his legs, bending them up and straightening them out. It will help prevent them from getting stiff.” She turned to Sam once more, before bustling past. “Bye handsome, I’ll be back in a minute to get you washed up.”

The room fell silent, the bleep of the monitor the only sound beyond the gentle huff of Sam’s breathing. Castiel moved closer to the bed.

“She seems optimistic about Sam’s recovery.”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled down at Sam, before lifting his left leg as advised. “Think this is what she wanted me to do with his leg?”

Castiel nodded as Jess reappeared with a tray of swabs.

“Sorry.” He leaned against the bed, gazing down at Sam. “I didn’t realise Crowley was connected to Ruby. I thought you were friends, he said—I thought he was with you when you got your tattoo.”

Dean flushed. “I forgot you knew about that.”

It wasn’t really something Castiel thought he’d ever forget, and that sudden realisation was probably what caused him to lose control of his mouth and blurt out the question he’d had even since he met Dean.

“So which is yours on?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Which buttock?” Then he winked. “You’ll have to find out.”

The tray of swabs clattered to the floor.

Castiel gaped, Jess began apologising, as she dropped to her knees to gather up the spillage.

And Dean… Dean looked horrified, his hand across his mouth, his eyes wide.

“Oh Christ.”

———

Dean was still flushed as they took the elevator down to the parking lot.

“Sorry about that, man. Like I said before, I can’t help myself sometimes.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel reassured him, though he was still a little hot under the collar. “I’ve got a friend like that, Gabriel. Flirts with anything that moves. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay.”

But Dean stayed quiet as they exited the elevator and crossed the concrete lot.

“It threw me, knowing Crowley had been there. He can be a fun guy, if you just want a laugh and a night on the karaoke. But he’s trouble.”

“You mentioned Ruby,” Castiel said tentatively, following Dean as he squeezed down a narrow passage between two SUVs.

“It’s that law firm. They’re all into it. Some departments worse than others.” Dean searched through his pocket for his keys. “Cocaine. I caught Ruby snorting it one night, on the coffee table at Sam’s old place, rolled up dollar n’all. She’s a skank. That’s one of the reasons I’ve not visited his new place. We, uh, we had a row.”

“I’m not surprised.” Castiel shook his head, reassessing everything he’d thought about Sam. “And you really think Sam—”

Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything like that.

“I don’t know for sure,” Dean admitted, after a moment. “But he was acting pretty weird for a while. And I _know_ Ruby was using, and one night Sam admitted she was getting the stuff from Crowley. He said they were _all_ doing it at work… but he told me he wasn’t.”

“But you’re not sure whether to believe him.”

Dean shook his head as they reached the Impala. “I wish I could, but Ruby had her claws well and truly into him. That’s why it was a relief—a shock, but also a relief—to find out about you, man.”

Castiel nodded. He knew he was trouble, but he had yet to supply anyone with illegal drugs, so that was probably one point in his favour.

“Sam’s always been desperate to fit in,” Dean continued, coming to unlock the passenger side, and then going round to the driver’s door. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you…”

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly. “If Sam has a possible drug habit, then you have to tell someone. He might need help. And you’ll need to tell his doctors too—they might have to reconsider what pain meds they give him when he wakes up.”

“Yeah.” Dean stared down at the dirty concrete, the key gripped in his hand. “I hadn’t thought of that. Damn. Why did he have to be such an idiot?”

“You don’t know for sure,” Castiel urged. “Sam seems so confident and… and together, surely he wouldn’t risk it all for drugs?”

“I know Sam would do anything to belong. Hey!”

Castiel halted, half in, half out of the Impala.

“Your turn to drive, remember.”

“I can’t drive Baby!” Castiel stared at him. He knew enough to know that Baby was Dean’s pride and joy.

“Man, you can’t drive _any_ manual. You gotta practice, ready for the Lincoln.”

“Not in Baby though, surely?”

Dean walked round to the passenger’s side, where Cas was still hovering, halfway out of the car. “I promised you driving lessons.”

——

“Sam’s had to keep his family under wraps, to get where he is.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d do drugs.”

They were sitting in the Impala, Cas in the driving seat, still in the parking lot.

“Sam would do _anything_ to belong. It’s always been his weakness.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is nothin’ most people don’t know. Truth is, as he might have told you, our family’s fucked up. Our mom died in a house fire, when Sam was a baby. You know that. And you know Bobby and Ellen took us in eventually.”

“Dean, I really don’t think it’s my place—”

“Listen, man. I’m trying to tell you. Just let me get there.” Dean gazed straight ahead. “Well, after the fire, dad went off the rails, more than a bit. Left me lookin’ after Sam, as you know. He got drinking, and that kinda thing’s never pretty. He was convinced he could track down the arsonists, and he kept taking off, following some lead.”

“Leaving you and Sam alone?” Castiel’s jaw dropped. “How old were you?”

“I was four, Sam was a baby.”

“Oh, _Dean_.” Without quite realising, he had slid his hand across the leather, pressing it against Dean’s own. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, not the first thing you tell people, is it? That our dad cared more about our mom dead, than his two kids, alive. But he wasn’t right in the head, I know that now. He started drinking more and more, called it his ‘demon’. We did what we had to do to survive. Lived in motels, settling in a new place, ’til the money ran out. He’d disappear for weeks, leaving me to handle the food, and eventually the motel would realise we weren’t gonna pay, and just when I was getting desperate, he’d reappear, and we’d chuck everything in Baby, in the middle of the night, and get outta town.”

“A midnight flit,” Cas said faintly. “What on earth did you do about school?”

“New one every few months. Usually changing state, or at least city, to make sure the child protection teams couldn’t track us. I barely went at all, too busy working to get enough money to feed Sam.”

“Dean, you were _four!_ ”

“Well, not immediately. But yeah, from about eight or so, I used to do little jobs, things people’d pay a few bucks for, here and there, shovelling ice, sweeping yards, even passing messages between the local big guys. Probably more like drugs than messages, but I didn’t realise it at the time. Later on I hustled pool, worked behind the bar in dives, that kinda thing.”

“So you worked, and Sam…”

“Sammy went to school.” Dean turned to face him, his eyes shining. “You know Sammy. Even in a filthy motel that kid was special. I knew he needed his chance. I was just a dumb kid, knew I’d never amount to much, but Sam… Sam was different.”

Castiel exhaled slowly.

Sam, Sam had taken everything. And Dean had given everything he had. But Dean was already continuing, his fists clenched on the seat.

“Then one night Dad took off in Baby, got drunk, and went head first into a lorry.”

Castiel gasped, his fingers reaching out and covering Dean’s curled fist with his own.

“Oh Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed, and squeezed their intertwined fingers together, before glancing down at them as though only then aware of their proximity.

Castiel hurriedly drew his hand away. He swallowed, and stared through the windscreen ahead.

What was he _doing_? His heart was racing, his skin tingling.

“So…” Dean’s voice was gruff in the silence. “We uh, we going to this family lunch, or what?”

Still staring ahead at the wall of the parking lot, his shoulders rigid, Castiel licked his lips.

Going to lunch was probably a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“All right.”

He really was an idiot.

“Let’s get this show started then.” Dean clapped his hands together, his lips curving into a grin, but his sudden change in demeanour far from convincing.

“I’m really not comfortable driving your car, Dean. What if I crash her?”

“You won’t mess up,” Dean said easily. “Now stick her in gear, and put your foot on the gear pedal, at the same time. That’s the only difference.”

“I’m really not sure what I’m doing.” Castiel eyed the chrome gearshift with suspicion.

This was probably another terrible idea.

“You’ll be fine,” Dean reassured him, checking his mirrors. “It’s all clear in the lot behind, and it’s Sunday lunchtime, the roads will be as quiet as they ever are.”

“I’ve never used one of these in my life.” Castiel wrapped tentative fingers round the gearstick.

“Stick her in reverse, back her out.”

“Reverse?”

It had been some years since he’d driven but he was fairly sure that was ‘up’.

He tightened his fingers around the gearstick, pressed his foot on the extra pedal like Dean had shown him, and thrust the stick up.

“What the—” Dean made a grab for the stick as they lurched towards the wall.

Then a crunch, like the sound of a can, a very big can, being eaten by a refuse truck.

Castiel stared at Dean, every limb frozen with horror.

Dean stared back.

Castiel licked his lips.

“Whoops?”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missing week, another horrible migraine got between me and my laptop.

“ _Whoops?_ ” Dean stared back at him, his green eyes wide with horror. “What the fuck, man?”

Castiel swallowed down the bile rising from his gut. He had really fucked up this time. He should have said no, refused to drive Baby.

In fact given he really ought to learn how to say no more generally.

“Oh my God, Dean.” He gulped at Dean’s stare. “I’m so, so sorry. I just, I thought it was up, to reverse, and—well, apparently that was wrong.”

“I’ll say.” Dean pressed his eyes shut, and shook his head, as if to dispel a terrible dream. “I don’t believe this! My _Baby_!”

“I really am sorry, Dean,” Castiel faltered. “I—I can’t afford to repay you back right away, but I could give you what I can, every month, until it’s paid off.”

Hopefully, if Dean was doing the repairs himself, the bill wouldn’t be as high as if it went to a normal garage. But he couldn’t afford it, would have to cut back to the bone on absolutely everything, and no way could he start the physical therapy sessions he so badly needed.

That wasn’t the point though. This was Dean’s _Baby_.

“Oh God,” he whispered, feeling sick as Dean rested his head against the dashboard, his fists clenched tight as some emotion, anger most likely, rippled through him.

How much more damage was he going to do to these people’s lives?

“So…” Dean opened his eyes at last, his face entirely blank. “When you said you really didn’t know what you were doing…”

“I _really_ didn’t know what I was doing,” Castiel confirmed, watching him cautiously. Was that all Dean was going to say? “I’m so sorry, Dean. I probably can’t understand how much Baby means to you, but I know she’s very important, and I’d give anything to change what happened.”

Dean swallowed, and Castiel watched as the adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. They sat in silence a few moments more, Dean still staring at the wall ahead.

“It’s—it’s okay,” Dean said at last, his tone strangely flat. Then he grimaced. “I mean, it’s clearly _not_ okay. But… nothing I haven’t fixed before.”

“Will you be able to do it yourself?” Castiel shook his head. “I really am sorry, Dean. To have restored her so beautifully and then to have to start again, just because _I’m_ an idiot—”

“You’re not an idiot. I shouldn’t have pushed you into it.” He shrugged, a little stiffly. “And I won’t need to start again. It’s probably just the fender and lights.”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief, though he wasn’t fully reassured.

“Well, as soon as you know how much it’s going to cost—parts _and_ time—let me know.”

Respect for Dean was swelling in his chest. Many men, however decent, would have lost their cool in this situation.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Cas.” Dean glanced at Castiel’s legs, for some reason. “The insurance will cover the costs.”

Warmed by that casual ‘Cas’, Castiel offered a small smile.

“Not sayin’ you won’t need to pop round the garage with the occasional apple pie and beer, of course, for the emotional distress…”

“It’s the least I could do,” Castiel replied, seriously. “Apple pie is one of the few things I can make.”

He hadn’t in years though, his oven was broken. And it seemed kind of pointless, when he was the only one there to eat it.

“Apple pie.” Dean pursed his lips, then nodded. “It’s a deal. Now shall we get out and take a proper look at the damage? Check we’re okay to drive to Ellen’s?”

He crossed his fingers that the damage wouldn’t be as bad as that awful, gut-churning crunch had suggested.

“You—still want me to come to Ellen’s?”

Dean squinted at him, then shook his head. “Cas. Of course you’re still coming to Ellen’s. You’re family now.”

—

“It could be worse,” were Dean’s first words from the front of the Impala, his tone still stilted. He was squinting down at the hood, where Castiel could see it was crumpled, although not as much as he’d feared. “It’s a tough car. I’ll have to check the chassis properly before I drive any distance. There’s no crumple zones on these old cars, so the force has got to go somewhere.”

“She looks pretty crumpled to me.” Castiel peered at the fender. Of course, with Baby literally rammed up against the concrete wall of the gloomy parking lot, they couldn’t see much of the damage.

“I’ve seen worse.” Dean shook his head. “Well, let’s head over to Ellen’s and we can take a proper look over there where there’s decent light. I’ll take her to the yard tomorrow and start work straight away.”

Castiel gazed at him, speechless.

“What, you think I’m gonna abandon you here?” Dean’s gaze softened. “Cas. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Yeah, I’m annoyed. But it wasn’t your fault, not really. You tried to tell me you didn’t know what you were doing, and I didn’t listen.” He gave one last look at the hood, winced, and then squeezed past the partially open passenger door. “But you should probably give _me_ the keys.”

__

It was midday when they pulled up in front of Bobby and Ellen’s house, familiar to Castiel from the night of the Christmas meal.

“Space on the drive,” Dean announced, pulling the Impala into a wide turn and up the slight incline of the paved driveway, accompanied by a strange scraping noise. “Charlie’s probably still stuck at the hospital. At least,” he muttered, as he turned off the ignition, “That’s one less person in the peanut gallery.”

“I don’t understand?” Castiel cast him a glance. Their conversation on the way over had been a little stilted, but Dean had unbent after a while, explaining to him, in terms only an idiot couldn’t understand, how a manual gearbox worked.

Trouble was, Castiel was obviously an idiot.

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean set his shoulders, before opening the driver’s door. “Right, I hope you’re ready for this.”

“For what?” Castiel, cautiously inspected the rear view mirror for any obstructions, before opening his own door, having thoroughly learnt his lesson when it came to Baby.

He followed Dean around to the front of the Impala, parked in front of the garage doors, alongside Bobby’s tow truck, ‘Winchester and Son’ painted in gothic red, along the side. Although the sun was low, and the sky overcast, the light was much better than in the parking lot.

“Oh.” Castiel shoved his hands into his coat pocket and forlornly surveyed the damage.

“Yeah. _Oh_ ,” Dean repeated, tilting his head to inspect the plates, which were lurching at a drunken angle.

The front fender was bent and hanging half off, which would explain the scraping noise they’d heard as they mounted the drive. The chrome grille was dented, the hood above crumpled, though less than he had feared. Worst of all, the right corner must have been closer to the wall, because that side was folded in, like the corner of a cardboard box thrown by a disgruntled courier.

Dean nudged him. “Don’t look so tragic. It’s all fixable.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I mean, next time I teach you to drive we’re borrowing Charlie’s Gremlin. But other than that…”

“You’d still teach me to drive, after I did _that_?”

Though obviously Castiel wasn’t going to run the risk with anyone else’s vehicle, even ones that Dean didn’t approve of.

“Who else is goi—” The door security light flared, illuminating them on the driveway. Dean glanced towards the house, and grimaced. “And… here we go.”

Frowning, Castiel turned to the house. Jo had appeared in the open door, a warm glow of light—and the scent of cinnamon—streaming past her from the hall beyond.

“What are you boys doing? It’s freezing out there!”

“Give us a minute,” Dean called back, turning, and as Castiel realised after a second of confusion, blocking the Impala with his body.

“Mom’s got roast chicken _and_ an apple pie in the oven. Normally we have to put the child lock on, just to stop you burning your fingers!”

“The child lock?” Castiel raised an amused eyebrow.

Dean flushed under the security light. “Yeah, well. Look, Jo. We’re coming. You go get me a beer, there’s a good girl.”

“I’m not your servant, Dean Winchester.” Jo stepped down onto the path, her pink fluffy slippers incongruous against her ripped jeans and grungy hoodie. “What’s up?”

“Now we’re for it,” Dean muttered, as she strode down the path. “What the _fuck_ do you have on your feet, Joanna Beth?”

“Watch your mouth!” came an older voice from the doorstep.

Ellen glared down at them.

“Sorry Ellen,” was Dean’s automatic reply, and Castiel bit his lip at his submissive tone.

Jo was in front of them now, heedless of her pink fluffy slippers. She stared at them as they blocked her view of the Impala’s front, and crossed her arms.

“What are you two hiding?

”We’re not hiding anything, why would we be hiding something?” Dean crossed his arms in turn.

Jo tried to peer between them. “Because we all heard the Impala arrive five minutes ago, and when we looked outside, you had Castiel bent over that hood like you were—” she broke off as Ellen appeared beside her, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Joanne Beth?” A quick glance at Dean showed his cheeks were flushed, but that didn’t stop his mocking tone.

“Er…” Jo glanced at her mother. “I was asking what they were doing out here. It’s cold. They could catch a chill, and then they wouldn’t be able to go visit Sam.”

She smiled sweetly at Dean.

Dean smiled just as sweetly back.

Ellen eyed them both with suspicion. “Would someone care to explain why we’re all standing outside in the middle of December?”

Dean clapped his hands together. “Jo says you’ve made apple pie.” He turned to Castiel. “It’s my favourite. Ellen is a _fantastic_ cook. Ellen, you should take Cas in, show him the pie.”

“I’ll show _you_ the pie, if you’re not careful,” said Ellen.

“I should probably go and sample it,” Castiel said, finally grasping that Dean did not want them to see the Impala. “Um, I’ll, er, see you inside?”

“You too, Jo,” Dean said, as Ellen hooked her arm around Castiel’s elbow. “I’ve just gotta check the oil. Don’t eat my pie!”

“You’ve got to check the oil?” Jo sounded dubious, and Castiel paused. “Dean, you never leave your house without checking the oil. You’re like, _obsessive_ about it.”

“Look, will you all just get in the damned house?” Dean’s voice was rising. “No point us all freezing.”

“Nah.” Jo shook her head and refused to give ground. “Mom, he’s hiding something, look at him. He’s doing that shifty thing with his eyes.”

They all, Castiel included, turned to look at Dean.

Jo saw her chance.

She slipped between them, before Dean could turn and block her way.

She gasped, her hand to her face.

“Oh. My. God. What the hell happened to Baby?”

Castiel cast Dean a helpless glance. Dean was frowning, rubbing at his neck with icy fingers.

“Just had a bit of a fender bender.”

“Oh Dean!” Ellen gasped as she caught sight of the hood. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” Dean waved them down. “I can fix her up.”

“But your Baby, and after your dad, and after you spent so long fixing her up too.” Ellen looked like she was about to cry. “What happened?”

“You always said you’d murder the next person to hurt your Baby,” Jo mocked. “I take it was your fault, as it’s the front end. What are you going to do now, murder yourself?”

“Don’t tease, Jo! You know how much the Impala means to Dean. Did you hit black ice?” Ellen asked sympathetically. “Bobby said the back routes were treacherous. You should have taken the main road, on a day like today, Dean.” She patted his arms, as though checking for injury. “Are you _sure_ you’re not hurt? You’ve got to be more careful, what would Sam say if he woke up to find _you_ in hospital?”

Castiel stepped forward.

“It—It wasn’t Dean’s fault.”

Behind Jo, Dean closed his eyes, but it was too late.

“Were you there too, Castiel? Oh my goodness, what a stream of bad luck you’re having, hurting your knee saving Sam, and now this. Dean, we’ve got to look after him, for Sam’s sake.”

Jo snorted.

Castiel shook his head. “No, I mean, Dean was kind enough to offer to teach me to drive a manual car.” He thought he’d better not mention the Lincoln, as it wasn’t the car Bobby and Ellen had offered him. Dean would have to explain. “ _I_ was the one driving Baby.”


	29. Chapter 29

“You let someone else drive Baby?” Jo screeched, and Dean clapped his hands over his ears.

“Jesus Christ, Joanne Beth. Sure you’re not related to a Banshee?”

“You let _Castiel_ drive Baby?”

Even Ellen sounded shocked, and Castiel cast another worried look at Dean, who stood, flushed and strangely subdued, as his adopted family stared at him.

The first flakes of snow began to fall around them.

“What happened?” Ellen was staring at Dean like she’d never seen him before.

“It’s fine!” Dean cast a desperate glance towards Castiel, who had no idea what to do. Then heseemed to spring back to life, attempting to herd them all towards the house. “Just a minor prang, it can all be fixed.”

“But _how_?” Ellen’s voice was laced with concern.

“I drove it into the wall of the hospital parking lot,” said Castiel, who felt it was time to take full and total responsibility.

At least for this.

“What are you idjits all doin’ standing around in the snow starin’ at each other? Don’t none of you have any sense?” Bobby grumbled from the top of the steps, breaking the silence that had fallen after Castiel’s confession.

Dean swallowed, and now seemed to be avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Even the frosty air felt tense.

“Bobby, you won’t believe it!” Jo beckoned him over, her eyes still wide as she glanced between Castiel and Dean.

“I’ll believe anything if it’ll get me my lunch on time.” Bobby turned to the slight, nerdy looking man who had appeared on the steps next to him. “Suppose we’d better go down, see what they’re all bletherin’ about.”

“Garth’s here?” Dean asked, sounded somewhere between pleased and exasperated.

“He brought a basket of fruit for Sam, and Mom invited him in for Sunday lunch. He said he hadn’t got anyone to spend it with, and you know what Mom’s like.”

Dean nodded as the skinny man approached them. He was pale, but he had a wide smile, and launched himself at Dean, who patted him gingerly on the back.

“Hey, man.”

“It’s good to see you, Dean. I’ve been hearing all the family news. Interesting times, huh?”

“Bobby!” Jo was practically dancing. “Look at this!” She draped herself across the bonnet of damaged Impala, a car show model in ripped jeans and pink slippers.

“Get off my car, Jo.”

“What the hell’s happened here?” Bobby’s frown deepened.

“Dean was teaching Castiel to drive.”

Bobby’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

“Castiel was driving Baby,” put in Ellen. “Apparently Dean here was tryin’ to teach the boy to drive a manual, and Castiel drove Baby into the side of the parking lot.”

“And Castiel’s still alive,” Jo announced, smugly.

Bobby’s gaze darted from the damaged Impala, to Dean, and over to Castiel, his brow furrowed.

“I’ll pay for the repairs,”Castiel reassured him, but was immediately interrupted.

“Cas, no! We talked about this.”

Now Bobby was gazing at Dean, an unreadable expression in his eyes, as Dean reluctantly showed him the damage.

“What’s the problem?” whispered Castiel, to the newcomer, as they stood, a little to the side.

Garth gave him a smile. “You’re Sam’s fiance, right? It’s good to meet you.” He pulled Castiel in for a hug, and Castiel met Jo’s amused gaze, over one woollen-cardiganed shoulder. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you, all good of course.”

“Until this,” said Castiel, soberly, though he was warmed by Garth’s effusive welcome.

“Well, got to say, ramming Dean’s Baby into the wall isn’t exactly the best move.”

“I know. But why’s everyone so…” He gestured towards the Impala. “You know.”

“Shocked?”

Castiel nodded, watching as Bobby bent to inspect the damage at the front of the Impala, muttering in low tones to Dean, whilst pointing to various parts of the grille. He really hoped the damage was as light as Dean said, but somehow he suspected Dean was, for whatever reason, downplaying it.

Garth slipped a bony arm around his shoulder.

“Well, how do I put this, Cas? Dean Winchester does not let _anyone_ drive that Impala. The last time I remember even Sam driving it was when Dean hurt his back reaching for a wrench at the garage.”

“Dean doesn’t even let _Sam_ drive Baby?”

Castiel put his hand over his face. Why on earth had Dean trusted him, of _all_ people?

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

“For pranging Baby?” Garth shrugged and watched alongside Castiel, as Bobby shook his head, his eyes soft, and laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean glanced up, and over at Castiel, before ducking his head.

“I think he already has.”


	30. Chapter 30

“Castiel you’d better sit between Garth and Jo, against the wall.” Ellen showed them to their seats. “Dean, I want you on this side so you can help carry the dishes.”

“Thought I was a guest,” Dean protested, but as ever, his chest warmed at the indication he was _family_.

Ellen and Bobby had always treated him and Sam as family. Especially once their dad took off for real, and they were no longer worried about stepping on John Winchester’s toes.

“What do you do?” Castiel asked Garth, as Dean opened the bottle of white wine Garth had brought as a gift, and ignored the glass Jo was holding out.

“I’m of legal age. I’m not a kid anymore, Dean.”

“With slippers like that, I’m not so sure,” he said, eyeing her feet with distaste, and happy to spar as much as possible if took her mind off Baby.

“Dentist,” Garth said, sampling a handful of peanuts from the sideboard. “I work at a surgery downtown.”

“He also volunteers at the shelter at the weekend, doing _pro bono_ work,” Ellen put in proudly, making Dean grin. Sam had had to tell them both what _pro bono_ actually meant. “Oh—” she continued the doorbell rang. “That must be Charlie.”

“Come in!” Dean bellowed, his mouth full of nuts, as he squeezed round the table to serve the wine. Ellen liked to do things properly now.

“Dean! Honestly, how do you ever expect to bring home a nice girl, with manners like that?”

Ellen shook her head, as Castiel’s gaze flickered to meet his.

Subtle, that guy was not.

“Well, Charlie isn’t exactly in the market for a boyfriend,” Dean said after a pause only Castiel would have noticed. He grinned, exposing his canines. “So it don’t matter.”

“I’m not surprised, if the only option’s men like you.” Jo grabbed the wine from his grasp and poured her own glass, as Charlie swung into the room, her scarlet hair snow-speckled and her cheeks flushed with cold.

“Hey Guys.”

She deposited her bag on the crowded dresser, dropped a kiss onto Dean’s head, and slipped into the seat to Bobby’s right.

“Sorry I’m late, my relief got stuck in a supply closet, if you’ll believe it. Luckily Jess heard him shouting, and went to let him out.”

“Wine?” Dean plucked the wine from Jo’s, and passed it up the table.

Charlie shook her head. “Not for me, I’ve got to drive home, and I’m so tired I’ll probably drive off the road as it is.“

“That’ll make two of you, today.” Jo's smile was devious.

“Is that what happened to Baby?” Charlie eyed him with concern. “I saw her on the driveway and I was about to ask if you were okay.”

Jo grinned, her blonde curls bouncing, as she prepared to deliver the bombshell. But Dean got there before her.

“I was teachin’ Castiel to drive, I confused him, and he accidentally bumped the wall of the parking lot,” Dean said, flatly. “It’s no big deal.”

Charlie stared between them.

“No big deal?” her voice rose.

“No big deal.” Dean held her gaze. “Look, everyone’s freakin’ out about it, and Cas there’s feeling pretty bad already. It wasn’t his fault, was mine, if anything.” He cast a reassuring glance Castiel’s way, and Castiel smiled hazily back.

Perhaps Garth’s wine had already gotten to him in his anaemic state.

“You let Castiel drive Baby!" Charlie eyed him with disbelief, before casting a thoughtful look at Castiel. “O—kay."

Dean suspected he'd be subjected to an interrogation later, but thankfully she seemed content to change the subject.

"So, um, Jess mentioned you’d both been in to see Sam this morning? I'm sorry I missed you, but it's been non-stop all night.”

“Yes, you still haven’t told us how he’s doing, Dean.” Ellen handed Bobby the carving knife and pushed a trivet towards his side of the table.

“That’s cause everyone’s been making a ridiculous fuss over my car.” Dean grumbled, as he checked they had everything they needed on the table. “He’s doing well, they’re talking about waking him up round about new year. Right, better go and rescue the chicken, huh? It’ll be dried out if we leave it much longer.”

Jo smiled sweetly. “Do you need me to come and work the child lock?”

—

Throughout the starter, there was an quiet unease in the room. It was awkward, with Jo casting him strange glances over Ellen’s Christmas centrepiece, and even Bobby’s grizzled face was contemplative, as he chewed his crackers and pate in silence. Charlie had turned the conversation to Sam’s recovery, but Dean didn’t miss the way her gaze switched thoughtfully between him and Castiel.

He knew she was just waiting for an opportunity to get him alone.

It had almost been worth it, though, to see Castiel behind the wheel of Baby, those strong, sensitive fingers curled around her steering wheel.

_Worth it?_

He froze, the cracker suspended from his fingers.

_What the fuck was that about?_

“You’d better watch out, Castiel," Charlie said, breaking into his thoughts. "I think Nurse Jessica has a bit of a crush on your fiance.”

‘Isn’t that a bit weird?” Jo asked. “I mean, Sam’s lying there unconscious, and she must _know_ he’s got a fiance. She introduced us to him!”

“Oh she knows everything.” Charlie cast a quick glance at Castiel, who, for some reason, flushed.

Perhaps he really was a lightweight.

“That space for Sam?” Dean nodded at the empty seat on Bobby’s other side. “Cause last thing I heard, he’s still gettin’ his food through a tube.”

“Dean!” Bobby cast an anxious look at Ellen, who had just returned from the kitchen, and Dean relented, a faint stirring of guilt in his gut as he saw Ellen’s face.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember she was no longer the tough, no-nonsense Ellen they’d grown up with.

“Clear the plates please, Dean. Missouri’s coming, but her carer called to say they were running late and we should start without her, she won’t want to miss the chicken though.” Ellen set down a dish of roast potatoes next to the bread basket.

“Cool” He stood up to gather up the plates they’d started with, careful with Ellen’s pride and joy dinner set. “I haven’t seen her in months, she doing okay?”

“So-so,” said Bobby, leaning over Jo and grabbing a roll. “She’s on some drugs that are slowing the disease down, and she’s still going to the social club every week, which is good for her—keeps her stimulated.”

“Missouri?” Castiel whispered, as Dean leaned over his shoulder to take his plate and add it to the pile on his arm, waiter style.

“Our Grandmother.”

Castiel’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, that’s ah… I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Yeah. You’ll like her, and if she likes you, she might even offer to tell your fortune."

Castiel stared up at him, his head tilted to one side.

"Yeah, probably sounds crazy, but she predicts the future. I'm not superstitious, of course, but somehow that woman has been right every single time.” A thought struck him, and he turned quickly to Ellen. “Have you told her about Sam yet?” 

Ellen slapped Bobby’s hand away as it reached for another bread roll. “Save some for our guests, Bobby. She knows, Dean. Not that she always remembers, but last time we spoke, she knew he was in hospital.”

Dean scrubbed the back of his neck. “That’s, ah, not what I mean.” He nodded down at Castiel. “Does she know about—have you told her ‘bout Sam—and Cas, here?”

Missouri was a lovely old lady, but that didn’t mean she’d moved with the times, and sometimes prejudice was deeply ingrained.

“About Cas bein’ a guy, I meant.”

Castiel’s panicked gaze met his.

Ellen frowned. “I think so, I mean, we certainly told her, but it really depends on whether she’s having a good day or bad as to whether she actually remembers.”

“And she wasn’t bothered 'bout that?”

Ellen gave him an all too understanding look, the kind of look Dean didn’t want to deal with. “Dean, I know what your dad would have thought about… Sam, and Cas. But not everyone’s like that. We don’t think like that. And Missouri won’teither.”


	31. Chapter 31

Dean took Missouri’s arm, and her carer, a young woman in her twenties, grasped her other arm as they helped her out of the Uber and along the slippery path. His heart contracted a little as he saw how unsteady she’d become since he last saw her, though his welcoming kiss had been met with recognition, and a delighted smile.

Maybe it was one of her good days.

“Here we go, Missouri, just up these last two steps, and you’ll be warm and toasty again.”

“It’s a cold day.”

“It sure is, but Ellen’s got a proper fire going, you just wait and see.”

“Will you be needing me?” the carer asked, blushing as she met his eye. “Missouri told me she would be fine with your family, but I’d be very happy to stay.”

Missouri patted her arm. “You go do your Christmas shopping honey, it’s almost that time of year.” She sniffed the cold air. “It’s gonna snow, maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.”

Her carer raised a questioning eyebrow, and Dean shook his head as they entered the hallway. Maybe it wasn’t one of her good days, after all.

“We’ll be fine. She’s family.”

“Oh, okay then.” The carer looked disappointed, but she said goodbye to Missouri sweetly enough before heading back to the Uber.

Once they were alone in the hallway, he gently divested Missouri of her coat, woollen hat, and gloves, before arranging her hair just how she liked it.

“You ready? I’ve got someone very special for you to meet.”

Hopefully, he thought, as she checked her hair in the mirror, Missouri’s arrival and first meeting with Cas would distract everyone from the whole car crash _thing_.

He held out his arm, and at her nod, he swung the dining room door open, and ushered her through.

“Here she is everyone!”

“Hello!” Missouri’s face lit up as everyone turned to greet her. “Merry Christmas everybody!”

“Come and sit down.” Bobby pulled out the spare chair next to him. “Get her a drink, Jo, don’t just stand there grinning.”

“She doesn’t realise Christmas has been and gone,” Dean whispered to Ellen, as she got up to hug Missouri and help to her seat.

Across the table Castiel was squinting as he tilted his head, looking from Missouri, to Dean, and Bobby.

“You okay, man?” he murmured, squeezing round to stand next to him, as the others were distracted. “Jo didn’t interrogate you while I was gone, did she?”

“Interrogate Castiel about what?” Jo asked, passing a glass of eggnog up the table.

“Is this your eggnog, Ellen?” Missouri sniffed it rapturously. “I’ve been dreaming of it for weeks. Oh it is _good_ to see you all!” 

“It’s good to see you, too, Missouri.” Charlie leaned over and pressed her hand gently. “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m—”

“You’re Charlie, honey. I remember you.”

Ellen and Bobby exchanged relieved smiles.

“Is Missouri Ellen’s mother, or Bobby’s?” Castiel asked him, looking bewildered.

“Oh.” Dean clicked. “Yeah, she’s not a blood relative you know, but she’s—”

“Family,” Castiel finished for him. “Yes, I think I’m starting to understand how ‘family’ works, round here.”

Dean swallowed. “Maybe it’s a weird, but it works for us.”

“Not weird, _lovely_ ,” Castiel said, smiling softly at him. “I wasn’t criticising, I think it’s wonderful how your family has just opened its arms to me, a complete stranger. I’ve…I’ve never felt so wanted and included in my life.”

Dean covered his sudden agitation by snatching the basket of rolls, which Ellen had been protecting from a hungry Bobby, and shoving them under Castiel’s nose. “Here, Cas, try some of Ellen’s bread, she made it fresh this morning.”

“Oh!” Missouri gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “And so I’m finally getting to meet Dean’s young man!” She peered at Castiel, her gaze approving, then she looked up at Dean, standing by his shoulder. “He’s just as handsome as I remembered.”

“Remembered?” Castiel looked puzzled as he leaned to shake hands across the roast potatoes. “Have, er, have we met before?”

“Yes we have.” Missouri clasped Castiel’s hand in both of hers, and beamed at him.

“Maybe you’ve been past my tollbooth at the transit?” Castiel hazarded, his confused gaze flickering to Dean, as Dean suddenly dreading what he knew would come, squeezed his way back round the table.

“Oh no, honey. I’ve seen you, and _Dean._ Together.” Her gaze softened, and as Dean approached, she released one hand from Castiel, and took Dean’s in her free hand. “I know you two will be very happy together.”

There was a gasp for Ellen, and Jo hid a chuckle behind her hand.

“A match made in heaven, you two. I knew the moment I saw you together.”

Dean swallowed, but he had to step in, though Missouri’s eery certainty had him struggling for composure.

Gently, he disentangled his fingers from Missouri’s. “Oh no, ah, Missouri, this is Castiel, he’s uh, he’s _Sam’s_ fiance, not mine.”

“But Sam’s not here.” Missouri blinked in confusion.

“Sam’s in hospital, Missouri,” Ellen put in gently. “He fell on the train tracks a few days ago, and hit his head. Castiel here jumped onto the tracks to save him.”

“In front of an oncoming train,” Jo added, before being quelled by Ellen’s “Hush, Jo.”

“But I’ve seen him, Castiel. I’ve _seen_ Castiel and Dean. Happy. Together. In the future.”

Missouri was becoming increasingly agitated, and Dean knew they had to settle her quickly, though something, something dark and jealous deep in his gut was begging to know what else she’d seen. Missouri had been right more times than coincidence would allow. But that meant…that meant….

Oh God. Was Sam gonna _die_?

And what, he and Cas just hooked up after?

Jesus. What was wrong with him.

“Missouri has visions,” Jo said, helpfully. “She was actually a well known fortune teller.”

“Retired,” Dean said, firmly. “Maybe… maybe you saw us just as friends,” he tried, forcing himself to keep his face blank. Missouri would know, wouldn’t she, if something like that was going to happen? “Cas and I get on very well. That’s probably what you saw.”

Ellen was pale, and Bobby reached over to take her hand in his.

“I used to be able to see into the future, you know,” Missouri turned sadly to Cas. “But now they say I can’t even see into the past.”

“It’s okay, Missouri,” Dean threw his arm around her shoulders, still strong for all that her mind had weakened. “We love you.”

“I know you do,” she says, smiling at him. “You’re good kids. And I just want you to be happy.”

—

“Pass Dean’s young man the gravy,” Missouri chided, as Jo helped herself. “He needs feeding up, Garth too, a skinny boy like that.”

“Not my young man,” Dean said, again, as Jo’s glance flickered over to him, her eyes raised.

When Missouri had first been diagnosed they’d been told to accept when Missouri misremembered, recalling her to the reality of the situation only caused pointless distress, but this was… certainly awkward.

“He’s your type, honey.”

“Ah, he’s not really my type, you know.” Dean glanced over at Castiel, who was staring with wide blue eyes, his cheeky flushed. “No offence, Cas.”

Castiel shrugged.

“Oh but he _is_. Look at him, dark hair, those bright blue eyes. And the way you two look at each other.” Missouri laid her hand on Dean’s knee. “I’m really happy for you, Dean. You deserve it.”

Panicking, he shook his head. “I—I prefer blondes.”

Ellen and Jo stared at him from opposite sides of the table.

Bobby snorted.

Dean shrugged. “What? Don’t know why you two are gawping at me. Take it as a compliment.”

“Mum’s comes from a bottle.”

“Joanna - Beth, no pie for you!”

“Aw, mum.” Jo pouted, then turned with a scowl. “Dean’ll probably eat it all anyway.”

“Least _my_ waistline can take it.”

Jo chucked her bread roll at him.

Bobby still hadn’t said anything, he just kept eyeing him across the table, his brow furrowed.

Garth coughed, then said, contemplatively. “Lisa was a brunette, and Cassie.”

Dean sent him a look of betrayal, as Cas turned to him with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean blustered, “Well, they had brown eyes too.”

“You once told me if Lisa had had blue eyes, she’d have been your perfect woman!”

It was always a mistake, antagonising Jo. He’d been drunk that night, in the Roadhouse. He’d been trying to put her off, because she’d had a thing for him a while back there. Hero worship, Ellen had muttered, though God knows why.

Ellen had said _that_ , too.

“Robin and Carmen were brunettes too,” Ellen put in. “Though I don’t recall their eye colour.”

“Brown,” Dean barked, scraping crumbs onto the floor.

“Audrey Hepburn was a brunet,” said Bobby, deciding _this_ was the moment to re-enter the fray.

Ellen thwacked him with the serving spoon. “Audrey Hepburn’s dead.”

“There is that,” Bobby conceded. “But nobody’s perfect.”

“I admire teeth,” said Garth, apparently oblivious to the chaos he’d triggered.

Castiel was squirming in his seat, his eyes on the roast chicken, refusing to meet Dean’s gaze.

“I prefer when they have teeth, too,” Dean put in, trying to derail the conversation.

But it was not to be.

“So, basically Dean, far from preferring blondes, nearly _all_ your girlfriends have been brunets. In fact the only one who wasn’t a brunette was Anna… and she was a redhead!” Jo finished triumphantly, before Ellen dragged her into the kitchen to clear the main course.

“There’s nothing wrong with redheads,” Charlie muttered.

Dean glared at her. “Really, that’s your contribution?”

She shrugged, something thoughtful in her gaze, as it flickered between him, and a very flushed Castiel.

“Anna’s were brown, maybe hazel if you’re being picky.” Dean retrieved the dessert plates from the sideboard, and handed them around the table. “And you do realise, it’s been quite some time since I last brought a woman home?” Although he’d told Castiel about his past girlfriends, back at the blood centre, he didn’t want him to think he was some kind of tramp. “I cannot believe this meal has devolved in my entire family trawling out every person I’ve ever fucked.”

“Dean!” Ellen, reappeared in the doorway, sounded appalled, and he shot her an appeasing smile.

“Dated. I definitely said dated.”

“I should hope so.” Then she turned back to the hallway. “Jo, bring in the pie, everyone’s ready.”

Pie.

at least there was something to come out of this shit-fest.

“I’ve remembered someone else,” said Jo, bearing pie, her smile smug. She waited until everyone was looking at her expectantly. “Harrison Ford.”

“Harrison Ford?” Ellen looked bemused. “But he’s—” Across the table, Castiel winced.

Dean jumped in. “Hazel. He’s got hazel eyes. Sometimes a bit green, but golden brown in some lights.”

Going by the sudden silence, he probably hadn’t helped his case.

“Oh really?” Jo crowed. “And how do you know?”

“Isn’t he a bit old now?” Castiel asked, apparently trying to lighten the tone, Dean shot him a grateful, if rather strained, smile.

Garth was eyeing the still-bubbling tart with a dentist’s instinctive horror. “Princess Leia had excellent teeth.”

“The man’s still alive,” said Ellen, and dumped a jug of custard in front of them.

Bobby grunted at the head of the table. “Indiana Jones era.” He caught Dean’s betrayed gaze, and shrugged. “Sorry kid, everyone knew.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, his voice quiet. He looked apologetically over at Dean.

Dean dropped his head to the table. Luckily Jo had already taken his gravy-covered plate and the pie had not yet been served.

Did they really have to do this today, of all the days?

“Did ya think you were subtle?” Bobby snorted a laugh. “The only surprise was when Sam turned out to be gay before you did… And he actually _was_ a surprise.”

“Right.” Sitting up, Dean flung his napkin on the table. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it properly. I’m—yep—I’m bi.” He looked round the table, his gaze hard. “All right?”

Charlie whooped. Garth broke into applause and started muttering something about balloons.

Castiel sat still, silent and uncomfortable.

“So Castiel _is_ his fiancee?” asked Missouri, looking bewildered, but she was tucking happily into the pie dish. Just dipping into it, right in the middle, with her dessert spoon.

Dean sank back in his seat, and rubbed his face. This was getting ridiculous. Had they really all known, all along?

Well, _now_ he felt like an idiot.

“It’s true,” said Charlie, who had been watching him carefully. She dipped her spoon into the pie, alongside Missouri. “All Dean’s paramours have been brunets. But they’ve all had brown eyes.”

Dean recovered enough to grab his own spoon, because he wasn’t letting Missouri and Charlie get all the pie. “They wouldn’t listen to _me_.”

 _Thank you, Red_ he mouthed around the pie, glad of the distraction from his whole coming out disaster.

Jesus, he couldn’t even come out properly.

Her lips quirked mischievously, and suddenly he knew he wasn't going to get away with it that easily. “Yeah. They all had brown eyes, except…”

Dean cringed.

“All except… Benny.”

The dining room fell silent, everyone’s mouth forming an ‘o’ of enlightenment.

“Who’s Benny?” Castiel whispered, to no one in particular.

“Benny was blue-eyed, and brown-haired.” Jo was watching him, her eyes sparkling with glee.

That girl was enjoying herself far too much.

“You know… that makes a lotta sense.” Bobby rolled his eyes as Dean turned on him. “Oh come on, boy. That year Benny worked at the yard, you were down there every day, tryin’ to help out trippin’ over yourself whenever he asked you to hand him a wrench.”

His cheeks were burning, his ears too, hell, even his neck was burning.

Because Benny had been ‘the one’. The ‘one’ every not entirely straight guy had. The one that turned them.

Across the table, Castiel finally met his gaze, his blue eyes soft with sympathy.

He sighed. “All right. Benny was—”

“His first male crush,” said Jo. “Also, his first _straight_ gay crush.”

“Jesus, Jo!” He turned on her, his jaw clenched. All he’d been gonna say was, Benny had blue eyes. “How d’you even know that? _I_ barely knew that.”

“Straight gay crushes.” Castiel grimaced. “Those are the worst.”

"Didn't I tell you?" Missouri smiled around at them, her spoon suspended in the air. "I knew those boys were made for each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me, after writing this, that not everyone might think Missouri's condition an appropriate source of mild humour, so I am sorry if that is upsetting to any reader. It is something we are dealing with in my own close family at this moment, which is probably why it was at the forefront of my mind, and I hope I have presented her condition with sensitivity.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the suggestions after the last chapter. This was drafted pretty quickly in response and I haven't even had time to check it, so let me know any issues. A scene with Dean and Jo will also be coming in the next few weeks.

After lunch, they retreated to the lounge, where Charlie and Jo topped up everyone’s eggnog—all except Bobby, who was guarding his whisky from any attempt to get him in the Christmas spirit. Dean was trying to avoid the chattering group at the fireplace, but he didn’t want to find himself tete-a-tete with Cas on the couch either, not with the way the lunch conversation had gone down.

Talk about awkward. He was going to _kill_ Jo. Ever since Sam’s accident, she’d been needling him at every turn, poking and prying, and making Cas feel awkward, before practically outing Dean over lunch.

He was ignoring the little voice telling him that apparently they already knew. Jo had just been the one to point it out.

Dropping onto the window sill, he sat, idly tracing patterns in the condensation, waiting for an opportunity to get Jo on her own—and ask her what the fuck she was playing at. But she seemed to be avoiding him, chatting to everyone as she served the drinks, taking her time with Missouri, with Garth, saying something to Cas which made him flush up, his gaze flitting over to Dean, before he turned away with a tight smile.

Dean growled under his breath. He’d had enough. He set his drink on the window sill, and got to his feet, ready to head over there and extract her from the group, before she had a chance to cause even more trouble.

“Hang on a minute, Dean.” Bobby appeared at his elbow, his bleary eyes worried. “Don’t go making a scene here.”

“Did you hear what she did?” he snapped back, as Jo, with a quick glance at him, cosied up to Missouri, where he couldn’t get at her.

“Yeah. And it wasn’t news to any of us,” Bobby said. “So just you hold your horses.”

Ellen’s arm wrapped around him, on the other side, and she squeezed his waist.

“I know you probably didn’t want it to come out like that, Dean, and I _will_ be having a word with her, it wasn’t her news to share, but if you go marching over there and lay into her, you’re only going to make things worse.”

“Much, much worse,” said Bobby, with a pained glance towards the fireplace.

“What…what do you mean,” Dean asked, looked between Bobby, who looked constipated, and Ellen, whose gaze was watery. “What’s going on?”

Bobby tilted his head towards the doorway of the room, away from the other visitors. “Come over here, a minute. Away from these adjust.”

Wondering, he followed, Ellen squeezing his arm, as they gathered, out of ear shot of the group by the fire.

“What’s going on?” He folded his arms, waiting for a reply, and a little unsettled by their secretive behaviour.

“Well…” Bobby drew it out. “You know she don’t fit in at that new private college. She don’t even want to be there, told me she’d be happier mucking about in the garage, but Ellen wants her to have ambition.”

“That’s no bad thing, Bobby.” Ellen pulled her cardigan further around herself, shivering in the draught that came in from the hall. “She could do anything, with money behind her, even be a corporate lawyer like Sam.”

“It’s bad if it makes her unhappy.”

Dean had to agree with Bobby. It had certainly been a surprise, at least to him, when, after finishing High School, Jo had enrolled on a law course at the fancy, all girls, private college on the south side of Chicago. At the time he’d wondered what was driving it, but he’d been too worried about Sam mixing with Crowley to take much notice.

“What’s the problem? Can’t they cope with her?” He couldn’t see what Jo’s college had to do with needling him non-stop.

Bobby sighed. “Will ya stop with the wisecracks, and listen?”

“Sorry.” Chastened, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m listening. What’s going on? Is Jo okay? You said she was unhappy.”

An annoyance though she currently was, he didn’t actively want her hurt. She was his sister, after all.

“She is.” Bobby gave a tight shrug, and leaned against the door frame. “You tell him, Ellen.”

“Seriously?” Ellen and Bobby exchanged one of the private messages that married couples seemed to communicate by. “Look, Dean, I don’t know if we should be telling you this…” She stopped, much to Dean’s frustration. They were the ones who had dragged him into this conversation, and now no one seemed to want to tell him what was going on.

“What?” he barked. “Not that I’m not grateful, but I’ve had to tell you a lot of things I’d rather have kept under wraps, thanks to Jo’s meddling—and yours,” he said, looking at Bobby, who had the grace to look ashamed.

“That’s what I mean.” Ellen touched his arm. “That’s what this is all about. Jo… Jo doesn’t fit in with the girls at that college—”

Bobby swirls his whisky round his tumbler. “I always said Jo wasn’t suited to an all-girls anything, Ellen.”

“I know, and maybe you were right. But that doesn’t help us now. Jo… well, Jo’s been having a hard time from some of the other girls. Girls can be difficult, you know?”

Dean didn’t, because, thankfully, and despite the hair, the only kid Dean had had to bring up was Sam.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “And I’ll go tell them to stick their noses out of our business, if that helps, but it doesn’t excuse her behaviour today, and with Cas. What the hell kinda problem’s she got?”

“It’s not a problem with you, or Cas, or you liking men,” Ellen said, anxiously. “It’s more… well those other girls, Dean. You should see them, they dress different from us, they talk different from us. Jo just don’t fit in. I think she tried at first, and realised it wasn’t going to work—”

“Well I’m glad about that. Jo isn’t that kinda girl.”

“Yes, but she still had to _survive_ somehow. And those girls, they’ve all got boyfriends, all from the boy’s private college, Dean. They share lectures sometimes, and they’re all so… clean cut, rich, going to be lawyers and doctors. Jo just couldn’t compete.”

He stared at her. “So what she do, punch them?”

Bobby sighed and glanced over to where Jo was talking softly to Missouri.

“She… she made a boyfriend up.”

Dean shrugged. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done—he’d certainly made up a few dates over recent years, just to keep people off his back—but it didn’t excuse Jo’s behaviour, or the embarrassment she was causing him and Cas. He looked round for Castiel, but found him by the window seat, talking earnestly to Griff. A smile came to his lips. Castiel couldn’t come too much harm with Garth.

Ellen touched his arm again.

“Dean. We’re breaking confidences here, but we think you need to know. We only found out by accident when Jo’s tutor called us because Jo had missed a week of lectures and they had to run a welfare check. We didn’t know she hadn’t been going in, so we had no idea what to say. Then this tutor got worried, and started asking whether there was any boyfriend trouble—she mentioned she’d been concerned by what the other girls had told her about Jo’s boyfriend.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “What Ellen’s trying to say, kid, is that Jo told them all she had a boyfriend, a big, strong, older, leather-jacket wearing ‘kick ass’ boyfriend.”

Dean shrugged. He could always have a word with this kid, make sure he knew to treat Jo right.

“Guy’s got taste in jackets, if not girls.” Another thought came to him, and he narrowed his eyes. “How _much_ older are we talking?”

Bobby rolled his eyes.

“In other words, _you_ ,” said Ellen, exasperated.

“ _Me?”_

Ellen nodded. “Basically she described you. And the school was concerned, you’re so much older, and—” she gestured at his battered jeans and shirt. “You’re not exactly like the guys the other girls go out with. The college was concerned for her welfare.”

“Probably about their reputation too,” Bobby put in, then downed his whisky in a gulp. “It’s only because they’re a fancy private college that they’re even bothering about this. The kid’s an adult, she don’t want parents getting stuck between her and her tutor.”

“She told them she was going out with _me?”_

Jesus! He rubbed his forehead. At least she was over eighteen, and he wasn’t going to have CPS on his case. But still, it was insane. Jo was his sister, his _little_ sister.

“Keep your voice down,” Ellen hissed. “She was embarrassed enough when the tutor called and we had to track her down.”

“Ellen, this is insane. I’m like, nearly seven years older than her.” He did _not_ need Ellen Harvelle on his case about her precious daughter, even if Jo would probably kick him in the balls if he ever tried anything on.

For Sam and Dean, Jo Harvelle had always been out of bounds.

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Ellen was eyeing the other side of the room anxiously, but Jo was chatting to Missouri and Charlie happily enough.

“She’s over-age,” Bobby put in. “But she shouldn’t have told them that.”

He held up his hands. “Look, I hope you know I would _never_ try something on with Jo. She’s—she’s practically a kid. And I don’t go for kids. Or, women much, these days.”

“We wouldn’t know.” Ellen picked up her eggnog. “Because you’ve never said anything, until today. But yes… we know you wouldn’t go for Jo, and that’s half the problem.”

Dean squeezed the bridge of his nose, eliciting a raised eyebrow of concern from Castiel, across the room. He shook his head slightly, and Castiel turned back to Garth, who seemed to be demonstrating a particularly painful form of dental surgery, going by the alarming arm actions.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking between them. “But I gotta say, I’m lost here. You say me not pursuing Jo is part of the problem? I mean, I know she used to hero worship me a bit, but that’s not, that’s—she doesn’t think like that any more, surely?”

Bobby and Ellen exchanged glances.

“Well…” Ellen lowered her voice. “Don’t ever tell her we told you this, but, that hero worship… well, it was more hero worship for Sam, hence the whole law school thing. For you, it’s more… I don’t want to say this, but—”

“Spit it out,” he said, folding his arms. “I’m not gonna tell the kid.”

Ellen sighed.

“It was a crush, Dean. A full-scale teenage crush.”

He froze, searching their faces for a sign this was a joke, some ridiculous prank. But they looked steadily back, Ellen fidgeting with the wedding ring on her left finger, the one scarred by a dog bite.

“But… but surely she doesn’t still think that now? That was years ago, Ellen.”

Ellen cleared her throat. “I know. And I don’t think it _has_ been all this time, but when those girls started in on her, it was the obvious thing for her to say, don’t you see. And she’s always had a soft spot for you.”

“As a brother!”

Ellen shook her head. “Not just as a brother. I’m sorry Dean, I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between you. But we had to say something. That’s why she’s being so difficult, we think. She’s spent so long pretending you’re hers, whether as a crush, or her pretend ‘kick ass’ boyfriend, that what you said today, and seeing you with other people, she had to come face to face with reality, and well, she didn’t react well.”

Dean scrubbed his forehead. “What do you mean, seeing me with other people? You haven’t seen me with anyone.”

No one but Cas, he realised, with a sudden sickening lurch, deep in his stomach.

Oh God.

Ellen’s brow creased. “Bobby, I think I left something in the oven—” She gestured over her shoulder. “I’d better go and check.”

“I’ll go—” Dean began, but Bobby held onto his arm.

“Let her go, Dean. There’s nothing wrong in the kitchen.” He pulled him out of the lounge and towards the snug. “I wanted a word with you, in private.”

Feeling like the chicken and roast potatoes were plotting their revenge on his digestion, Dean followed him slowly to the back of the house. He had no great hopes for a conversation that had to take place in the snug, if the previous conversation, awkward as it was, was fit for the lounge.

He waited until Bobby had shut the door, before walking towards the little window that looked out onto the backyard. For some reason, he didn’t want to sit down.

“What have you got to say that’s so important, it couldn’t happen out there?”

Bobby shuffled on his feet, before heading over to the drinks cabinet in the corner, and extracting two cut crystal tumblers and a bottle of Scotch.

“This requires whisky?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Do I need a lawyer present?”

Bobby shook his head.

“Sit down.” He gestured to the battered sofa, and dropped down on the far end, leaving the cushion by the door for Dean. He waited until Dean was seated, and then took a deep breath.

“Now look, Dean…. Missouri don’t make mistakes.”


End file.
